They sat silent for a moment, then with slow reflectiveness, like one who thinks aloud, he said—
'I have to go to Scotland next week.'
'Do you! What part?'
'I go to Inverness-shire.'
'Why, that's where we are! Near——'
'Why shouldn't I drop down upon you some day?'
'Oh, will you? That would be——' She seemed to save herself from some gulf of betrayal. 'There are walks about my grandfather's more beautiful than anything you ever saw—or perhaps I ought to say more beautiful than anything I ever saw.'
'Nicer walks than at Ulland?'
'Oh, no comparison! One is a bridle-path all along a wonderful brown trout stream that goes racing down our hill. There's a moor on one side, and a wood on the other, and a peat bog at the bottom.'
'We might perhaps stop short of the bog.'