They walked slowly towards the reservoir, leaving the highway, and treading on the soft close-cropped grass that fringed the moor. A grouse, occasionally, whirring low near the heather, cried its alarmed “Go-back, go-back,” and the faint sound of the sportsman’s gun was borne upon the wind. Silence fell upon the two, a silence that Tom knew not, nor cared to break.
“And what about Miss Baxter’s apprentice?” at last spoke Dorothy, very softly.
Tom did not seem to hear. In truth he walked in a blissful trance. The question fell upon his ear, but the words, as words will when the mind is dreaming, tarried ere they reached his senses.
It seemed to Dorothy as if there had been a long gap in their conversation when he spoke.
“I beg your pardon, what did you say, Miss Dorothy?”
“I said, what about Miss Baxter’s apprentice?” and there was no mistaking the withdraw of the hand now.
“Miss Baxter’s apprentice!” said Tom, blankly. “Miss Baxter, the milliner, you mean.”
“Of course I mean her and her apprentice.”
“Well, what about them?” asked Tom, “and how came we to be talking about them?”
“What’s her name? I hope it’s a pretty one.”