“To the hills,” he answered. “I can leave you at the church entrance. But before you go——”
“I am not going,” she answered. “I should love a walk. I will come with you to the hills.”
He looked at her doubtfully. She appeared to him so different a person in her country clothes—a dark brown tailor-made suit, with short skirt, a brown tam-o’-shanter and veil. She was not much more than a child after all. Her mouth was a little sad, and she was very pale and seemed tired.
“If you care to walk so far,” he said gravely—“and with me!”
“What am I expected to say to that?” she asked demurely.
“I think that you know what I mean,” he answered, avoiding her eyes. “Your villagers will certainly think it strange to see their mistress walking with the poor missioner who wasn’t allowed to hold his services.”
“I am afraid,” she answered, “that my people have learnt to expect the unexpected from me. Now tell me,” she continued, “what has brought you back to the scene of your persecutions? I am hoping you are going to tell me that it is to apologize for the shockingly rude way you left me last time we met.”
“I did not know that you were here,” he answered. “I came for two reasons—first, to collect materials for a short article in a friend’s magazine, and secondly, to ask a question of Stephen Hurd.”
“Apparently,” she remarked, “your question annoyed him.”
“He seemed annoyed before I asked it,” Macheson remarked; “I seem to have offended him somehow or other.”