He only laughs at this pathetic entreaty, and throws a pebble into the tiny river that runs at our feet.
"Why are you alone?" he asks, presently. "Why is not the indefatigable Billy with you?"
"He reads with a tutor three times a week. That leaves me very often lonely. I came here to-day just to pass the time until he can join me. He don't seem to care much about Greek and Latin," I admit, ingenuously; "and, as he never looks at his lessons until five minutes before Mr. Caldwood comes, you see he don't get over them very quickly."
"And so leaves you disconsolate longer than he need. Your sister, Miss Vernon—does she never go for a walk with you?"
Ah! now he is coming to Dora.
"Dora? Oh, never. She is not fond of walking; it does not agree with her, she says. You may have noticed she is not very robust, she looks so fragile, so different from me in every respect."
"Very different."
"Yes, we all see that," I answer, rather disconcerted by his ready acquiescence in this home view. "And so pretty as she is, too! Don't you think her very pretty, Mr. Carrington?"
"Extremely so. Even more than merely pretty. Her complexion, I take it, must be quite unrivaled. She is positively lovely—in her own style."
"I am very glad you admire her; but indeed you would be singular if you did not do so," I say, with enthusiasm. "Her golden hair and blue eyes make her quite a picture. I think she has the prettiest face I ever saw: don't you?"