Rosalie gave him one of her sidelong penetrating glances.
“Well,” said she, “there are dumb animals and dumb animals; Mariana is dumb.”
“Indeed!”
“What I mean is, she never complains.”
“Very sensible of her. There is no one to listen.”
“There is Everard! She asks his advice upon everything.”
“She told you that?”
“Yes. She talks about everything but her own hard life.”
“That is why you wish her to speak about it. Did she do so, you would wish her silent. The world is very contrary, Rosalie.”
He stepped aside to let her pass before him down the narrow path. There was no alternative but to obey, as the sunset had now completely died away, and the dusk of night and its accompanying chilliness had wandered in, bringing a sense of desolation, of misery.