'What, and go away—already! Surely that is too much to expect,' I ventured, looking down into her eyes, which, if not boasting any poetical attractions of 'hidden depths,' were very clear and straightforward.
'Oh no, I don't mean that; but you could come and stay nearer to us. The people at Lossie Villa are just going to leave, I know.'
'I am bound here for a little while, as one of my oldest friends has just asked me to give shelter to his wife and her mother for a few weeks.'
'Indeed! Oh, they will be some people to know. Have I ever heard of them?'
'I don't know. The mother's name is Mrs. Ellmer, the daughter's—Mrs. Scott. She has been ill, I believe.'
'Mrs. Ellmer! Why, surely those are the people who used to live at the cottage! Oh, I have heard about them and your kindness to them. People said——' She hesitated.
'Well, what did they say?'
'Oh, well, they said you used to be very fond of—the daughter.'
'So I was; so I am. But you need not be jealous.'
She laughed, a bright clear laugh, scarcely without a touch of good-humoured contempt at the suggestion.