She moved on with a smile at the corners of her lips.
“What a downright person you are!” she said. “But honestly to-day I am not in the mood to be alone. I am possessed with an uneasy spirit of sadness. I am afraid of my thoughts.”
“I am only sorry,” he said, “that you should have any that are not happy ones. Don’t you think perhaps that you are a little lonely? You seem to have so few friends.”
“It is not that,” she answered. “I have many and very dear friends, and it is only for a little time that I am separated from them. It is simply that I am not used to solitude, and I am becoming a creature of moods and presentiments. It is very foolish that I give way to them; but to-day I am miserable. You must stretch out that strong hand of yours, my friend, and pull me up.”
“I will do my best,” he said. “I am afraid I cannot claim that there is anything in the shape of affinity between us; for to-day I am particularly happy.”
She met his eyes briefly, and looked away seawards with the ghost of a sorrowful smile upon her lips. Her words sounded like a warning.
“Do not be sure,” she said. “It may not last.”
“It will last,” he said, “so long as you choose. For to-day you are the mistress of my moods!”
“Then I am very sorry for you,” she said earnestly.
He laughed it off, but her words brought a certain depression with them. He went on to speak of something else.