OLIVER. Yes, sometimes.
ANABEL. It seemed to me, especially that winter in Norway,—I can hardly express it,—as if any moment life might give way under one, like thin ice, and one would be more than dead. And then I knew my only hope was here—the only hope.
OLIVER. Yes, I believe it. And I believe—-
(Enter MRS. BARLOW.)
MRS. BARLOW. Oh, I wanted to speak to you, Oliver.
OLIVER. Shall I come across?
MRS. BARLOW. No, not now. I believe father is coming here with Gerald.
OLIVER. Is he going to walk so far?
MRS. BARLOW. He will do it.—I suppose you know Oliver?
ANABEL. Yes, we have met before.