“Not in the least,” he said with his eyes on her.
“Guess.”
“I can’t.”
She reflected impatiently that he was really dreadfully dense.
“You will see the Marldon hills.”
“Really?” What did he care for all the hills in the country?
“Yes, really,” she exclaimed triumphantly. “I thought it might be so, and I have proved it. Why, it will be the most beautiful view in the whole neighbourhood, and I don’t think any one could have believed it possible.”
Her eyes sparkled enthusiastically, her hat lay on the ground before her, and the wind tossed her dark hair. Harry looked at her, worshipping, with a sudden contempt for Miss Arbuthnot. What did his heart tell him? What was earth and air crying out? What were the birds singing? Love—love—love—and he—he only—must remain dumb, dull, cowardly. His voice shook with the effort he made to keep back the universal cry.
“Aren’t you tired? St— stop for a little while,” he stammered.
If she had been thinking of him, or even if her mind had been taken up less with her own interests, she could not have failed to notice something hoarse and strained in his voice, but she heard nothing.