She hesitated.
“It was written by a great man, a ‘mighty thinker,’ and I like to try to find out what he means.”
“Well, I think it is a very dull amusement. Thomas Carlyle”—looking at the title page. “Mighty thinker, you say. I’ve heard of a mighty hunter——”
“Oh, you are thinking of Nimrod! It’s not the same person,” said Annie.
“You are laughing at me! Very well!”
“Yes, I am,” said Annie, smiling, and putting her arms affectionately round his neck. “But I think, if I didn’t laugh, I should cry—I feel very much touched by finding you—finding you here trying to read my dull books when I was feeling very angry with you for running away from me as you did.”
Harry rubbed his curly head against her responsively without saying anything for a minute. Then he looked up searchingly into her face.
“Annie, I want to ask you something. Just now Ste—some one told me they had seen Colonel Richardson in Beckham several times during the last few days, and had seen you talking to him.”
“Well?”
“Well!”—sharply. “And why didn’t you say anything about it?”