"Tell me about your house—Dane Mount it is called, is it not?" I asked, presently. We had been silent for a moment, walking down a shady path, great pine-trees on each side.
"No, I won't tell you about it; you must come over there some day and stop with me for a night or so. You ought to see the home of your ancestors, you know. Promise me you will when I come back from Scotland!"
We had gone deep into the wood by now. It was quite dusky. The thick trees met overhead, and only an occasional sunbeam penetrated through.
I felt stupid. The words did not come so easily as when I am with the
Duke.
"How silent you are, Comtesse!"
"Is it not time to go back?" I said, stupidly.
"No, not nearly time. I want you to tell me all about yourself—where you lived, and all that happened until you flashed into my life at the Tilchester ball. See, we will sit down on this log of wood and be quite comfortable."
We sat down.
"Now begin, Comtesse: 'Once upon a time, when I was a little girl, I came from—where?'"
"Do you really want to hear the family history?" I asked.