“What! You up and out here?” he said, hastening closer to the step. “How are you feeling this morning? Better, I’m sure, or you would not be here so early.”
“Oh, I had to get out to the air,” she said. “I couldn’t stand the car another minute. I wish we could walk the rest of the way.”
“Do you?” he said, with a quick, surprised appreciation in his voice. “I was just wishing something like that myself. Do you see that beautiful straight road down there? I was longing to slide down this bank and walk over to that little village for breakfast. Then we could get an auto, perhaps, or a carriage, to take us on to another train. If you hadn’t been so ill last night, I might have proposed it.”
“Could we?” she asked, earnestly. “I should like it so much;” and there was eagerness in her voice. “What a lovely morning!” Her eyes were wistful, like the eyes of those who weep and wonder why they may not laugh, since sunshine is still yellow.
“Of course we could,” he said, “if you were only able.”
“Oh, I’m able enough. I should much rather do that than to go back into that stuffy car. But wouldn’t they think it awfully queer of us to run away from the train this way?”
“They needn’t know anything about it,” he declared, like a boy about to play truant. “I’ll slip back in the car and get our suit-cases. Is there anything of yours I might be in danger of leaving behind?”
“No, I put everything in my suit-case before I came out,” she said, listlessly, as though she had already lost her desire to go.
“I’m afraid you are not able,” he said, pausing solicitously as he scaled the steps.
She was surprised at his interest in her welfare.