He kept his eyes on her. 'Are you always so happy?'
'Oh, I hope not. That would be rather too inhuman, wouldn't it?'
'Too celestial, perhaps!' He laughed—but he was looking into the blue of her eyes as if through them he too had caught a glimpse of Paradise. 'I remember thinking at Ulland,' he said more slowly again, 'I had never seen any one quite so happy.'
'I was happy at Ulland. But I'm not happy now.'
'Then your looks belie you.'
'No, I am very sad. I have to go away from this delightful London to Scotland. I shall be away for weeks. It's too dismal.'
'Why do you go?'
'My grandfather makes me. He hates London. And his dreary old house on a horrible windy hill—he simply loves that!'
'And you don't love it at all. I see.' He seemed to be thinking out something.
Compunction visited the face before him. 'I didn't mean to say I didn't love it at all. It's like those people you care to be with for a little while, but if you must go being with them for ever you come to hate them—almost.'