'I suppose so. I was thinking of the other things we used to speak of.'
Emily hazarded a glance at him, as if to examine him again in this new light.
'You used to say,' she continued, 'that you felt in many ways suited for a political life.'
'Did I? You mean at home, when I talked in a foolish way. It was not my serious thought. I never said it to you.'
She murmured a 'No.' They walked on in silence.
'You didn't read Italian then,' Wilfrid said. 'You, I feel sure, have not wasted your time. How much you must have read since we talked over our favourite authors.'
'I have tried to keep up the habit of study,' Emily replied, unaffectedly, 'but of course most of my time is occupied in teaching.'
Their walk had brought them from under the trees, and the lake was just before them.
'I will go on to the bridge,' Emily said. 'The boat I return by will leave shortly.'
She spoke as if expecting him to take leave of her. Wilfrid inwardly bade himself do so. He had seen her, had talked with her; what more for either? Yet it was beyond his power to stand here and see her walk away from him. Things were stirring in his heart and mind of which he refused to take cognisance; he would grant nothing more than a sense of pleasure in hearing once again a voice which had so long been buried, and there was no harm in that. Was not his strongest feeling merely surprise at having met her thus? Even yet he found a difficulty in realising that it was she with whom he spoke; had he closed his eyes and then looked round for her in vain it would only have appeared the natural waking from intense reverie. Why not dream on as long as he might?