"I would rather sit here and talk, since I have had the good luck to meet you," answered Lord Redin, resting his elbows on his knees, and idly poking the green carpet with the end of his stick. "I went to your house, and they told me that you would very probably be here."
"Yes. I often come. But you know that, for we have met here before. I only stay at home on Sundays when it rains."
"Oh! Is that the rule?"
"Yes, if you call it a rule," answered Francesca.
"I like to know about the things you do, and how you spend your life," said the Scotchman, thoughtfully.
"Do you? Why? There is nothing very interesting about my existence, it seems to me."
"It interests me. It makes me feel less lonely to know about some one else—some one I like very much."
Francesca looked at her companion with an expression of pity. She was lonely, too, but in a different way. The little drama of her life had run sadly and smoothly. She was willing to give the man her friendship if it could help him, rather because he seemed to ask for it in a mute fashion than because she desired his.
"Lord Redin," she said, after a little pause, "do you always mean to live in this way?"
"Alone? Yes. It is the only way I can live, at my age."