“Ought?” he said, smiling. “What is the ought in the case? Why are we going through all this? Is it a duty to society or to ourselves?”
“A little of both, I suppose,” said Rachel.
“And, Rachel, from the bottom of your heart, is it not a trying duty?”
“I want to like what you are showing me,” said Rachel.
“And you are more worried than delighted, eh?”
“I—I don’t know! I see it is grand and beautiful! I did love my own moors, and the Spinsters’ Needles, but—Don’t think me very ungrateful, but I can’t enter into all this! All I really do care for is your kindness, and helping me about,” and she was really crying like a child unable to learn a lesson.
“Well,” he said, with his own languor of acquiescence, “we are perfectly agreed. Waterfalls are an uncommon bore, if one is not in a concatenation accordingly.”
Rachel was beguiled into a smile.
“Come,” he said, “let us be strong minded! If life should ever become painful to us because of our neglect of the waterfalls, we will set out and fulfil our tale of them. Meantime, let me take you where you shall be really quiet, home to Bishopsworthy.”
“But your uncle does not expect you so soon.”