“I began to despair at one time of getting back to the station,” Hilton said, lightly; “and I was very tired of being a prisoner, I assure you.”
He looked intently at Grey as he spoke, and the pleasant warmth of her manner as she replied touched and pleased him but he was fain to confess that it was only the lively interest that any girl in her position would take in one who had been lost in the same way as he, and was now found.
“I am very glad to see you back, Mr Hilton,” she said. “We were in great trouble about you. But when shall we see Mr Chumbley?”
“Soon, I hope,” he replied, quietly, and there was a curious sinking feeling at his heart as she spoke.
“She would have shown just as much emotion at seeing him for the first time,” he thought. “What a sweet, innocent, gracious little woman it is, and how much happier I might have been, if I had made her the object of my pursuit.”
“Tell me about Mr Chumbley,” said Grey, taking up her work; “did he suffer much when you were prisoners?”
“Suffer? No!” said Hilton, smiling. “If he did, he never showed it. He’s a splendid fellow, and takes things so coolly.”
“Oh, yes, he is, indeed!” cried Grey. “I do like Mr Chumbley.”
Hilton’s heart sank a little lower, and there was almost a ring of sadness in his voice as he went on:
“He kept my spirits up wonderfully by his nonchalant, easy way. He was a capital companion and never once showed that he was low-spirited or suffered in the least.”