“Yes—no!” The words sounded like a groan, but Wilbraham recovered himself at once. “You’re too good to me, Sylvia, and I’m—a brute.”
She laughed happily.
“I wonder why you all like to call yourselves names? You and granny and Teresa so often do it, and I never do. But I’m so glad you’re not worse. I don’t think you could hide it away from me if you were. Well, and don’t you want to hear a little more what Teresa said?”
“I don’t think I do just now,” he said desperately. “I want you to look at the mountains. Stand up, and you’ll see them better.”
She always did what he suggested.
“How pretty!” she commented.
“And the tombs,” he hurried on. “I expect you can see a good many behind you.”
“It was so funny of them to like to have their tombs out here, and spread all about. People are generally buried together, as they should be,” said Sylvia disapprovingly, as she dropped again by Wilbraham’s side. “Don’t let us talk about the tombs, dear. We were having such a comfortable chat, and I do so like it! Now, are you sure your leg is quite comfortable?”
“Quite,” he returned, trying hard to keep impatience out of his voice.
“Quite.”