"I really have not decided," said Stephen, relapsing into coolness.
"I was only going to say that if you do stay, we, that is, I—we, I mean—shall be happy to see you here often."
"Thanks."
"The view is considered fine," faltered the girl, pulling off her gloves in desperate embarrassment, and putting them deep down in her pocket.
Stephen began his view-remarks.
"But what I was going to say," she continued, breaking in at the first pause, "was, that if you should stay, and need—need horses, or a—guide, I wish you would apply to Mr. Head."
"They are in a conspiracy against me with their horses," thought Stephen. Then he threw a hot shot: "Yes; Mr. Head asked me the same thing. He also asked me not to mention that he brought me here."
"No; pray do not," said Honor quickly.
He turned and looked at her: she began to blush—pink, crimson, pink; then white, and a very dead white too.
"You think it strange?" she faltered.