He digested this for a moment, found no adequate answer, and turned the conversation.
“I was thinking of you as I rode,” he said, in tones into which he threw an inflection of tenderness which she could not fail to detect. “I scarcely dared to expect so much happiness as to meet you like this. You are a tremendous walker. Do you realise how far you are from home?”
He still hoped to induce her to turn and walk back with him. He would be late for his meeting in any case. He was too mentally flurried to decide how he should explain the defection: he was not very ready at invention; but the sight of Prudence’s fair indifferent face drove him to the verge of recklessness; no consideration at the moment was strong enough to tear him from her side.
“The farther the better,” Prudence answered. “I am walking into the sunset.” She turned her face to the westering sun and the warm glow in the sky that lit its declining glory. “When I turn about I see only the chimneys; they blot out everything for me.”
“But one can’t see them from this distance,” he insisted, and paused and looked back to verify his statement.
Prudence smiled faintly.
“I can,” she said. “I see them even in my dreams.”
“I think myself they look rather fine,” he said. “The red bricks against the trees are arresting.”
“Yes,” she agreed, and smiled at him more directly. He felt that he had struck a happy note and was unnecessarily elated.
“All great industries appeal to me,” he continued as they walked on again. “I’m tremendously interested in the factory—and in the workpeople. They are so human and yet simple. I enjoy working among them. And Mr Graynor is so generous. The workpeople think very highly of him. I have been very happy in my labours since coming here.”