Such a dialogue as the following would have excited her mirth, but that Helen just now seemed to have lost all sense of the ludicrous, with her spirits, energy, and general interest in life:
"Don't you enjoy the water on a day like this, Miss Hallaton?"
"Immensely."
"There seems no chance of rain at present. I think the fine weather will last us now till the moon changes."
"Probably."
"That's a great advantage, you know, for the people who have already got their hay down."
"Undoubtedly."
"How smooth the boat goes, Miss Hallaton. A smooth row is—is—much smoother, isn't it, and pleasanter, than a rough one?"
"Certainly."
"And this is a very nice row, I think," continued Goldthred, encouraged by an approving glance from Mrs. Lascelles, to whom his eyes, like his thoughts, were continually turned,—which accounted, indeed, for the abnormal idiotcy of his conversation. "I shall be almost sorry when we get to Cliefden; shan't you?"