“I don't know—I may; but I'm not much given to brooding. But how comes it that you, the lightest-hearted girl that ever lived—What makes you low-spirited?”
“First of all, Tony, I have been ill; then, I have been away from home; but come, I have not come back to complain and mourn. Tell me of your friends and neighbors. How are all at the Abbey? We'll begin with the grand folk.”
“I know little of them; I have n't been there since I saw you last.”
“And how is that, Tony? You used to live at the Abbey when I was here long ago.”
“Well, it is as I tell you. Except Alice Trafford,—and that only in a carriage, to exchange a word as she passed,—I have not seen one of the Lyles for several weeks.”
“And didn't she reproach you? Did n't she remark on your estrangement?”
“She said something,—I forget what,” said he, impatiently.
“And what sort of an excuse did you make?”
“I don't remember. I suppose I blundered out something about being engaged or occupied. It was not of much consequence, anyhow, for she did n't attach any importance to my absence.”