This thought so engrosses him, as he walks along, that he fails to hear Mrs. Branscombe, until she is close beside him, and until she says, gently,—
"How d'ye do, Sir James?" At this his start is so visible that she laughs, and says, with a faint blush,—
"What! is my coming so light that one fails to hear it?"
To which he, recovering himself, makes ready response:
"So light a foot
Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint."
Then, "You are coming from Gowran?"
"Yes; from Clarissa."
"She is well?"
"Yes, and, I suppose, happy,"—with a shrug. "She expects Horace to-morrow." There is a certain scorn in her manner, that attracts his notice.
"Is that sufficient to create happiness?" he says, some what bitterly, in spite of himself. "But of course it is. You know Horace?"