"It is getting too cold for you to stay out any longer," says Stephen, with great dignity; "come, let us return to the house."
CHAPTER XXI.
"'Tis impossible to love and be wise."
They return. The early Winter night has fallen, and in the smaller drawing-room the curtains are already drawn, and though no lamps are lit, a sweet, chattering, gossiping fire sheds a radiance round that betrays all things to the view.
As Dulce enters the room everyone says, "Well, Dulce," in the pleasantest way possible, and makes way for her, but Miss Blount goes into the shade and sits there in a singularly silent fashion.
Sir Mark, noting her mood, feels within him a lazy desire to go to her and break the unusual taciturnity that surrounds her.
"Why so mute, fair maid?" he asks, dropping into a chair near hers.
"Am I mute?" she asks in her turn, thereby betraying the fact that she has been very far from them in her inmost thoughts.
"Rather," says Sir Mark; "would you think me rude if I asked the subject of your waking dreams?"