"Bertha?" he said. "Oh, yes, I am quoting Bertha. Your manner is not as light as hers, but it reminded me of her in some way; perhaps because I had a letter from her to-day, and she was in my thoughts."
"I hope she is well," said Tredennis, "and does not find her farm-house too dull."
"She does not complain of it," the professor answered. "And she says nothing of her own health, but tells me she is a little anxious about Janey, who does not seem quite herself."
Tredennis looked out into the darkening street. They were sitting by the opened window.
"She was not well when she went away," he said, a trifle abstractedly.
"Janey?" asked the professor, as if the idea was new to him; "I did not know that."
Tredennis roused himself.
"I—was thinking of Bertha," he said.
"Oh, of Bertha," said the professor, and then he lapsed into a reverie himself for a few moments; and seemed to watch the trees on the street without seeing them.
"No, she was not well," he said, at length; "but I think she will be better when she comes back."