"They should," assented Christopher; "but few of them do, 'twould seem."
"And now you laugh at me. Oh, I have heard it all! How pleasantly Nidd River runs past the ferry-steps. She is beautiful, they tell me."
"I have no judgment in these matters. Ask Michael—he was there with me in Knaresborough."
Michael had chanced to overtake them at the moment, Elizabeth following him like a dog. "Nidd River—yes, she is beautiful."
"It was Miss Bingham we talked of. I—oh! I have heard such wonderful tales of her. She glamours men, they say."
Michael, for a breathing-space or two, was silent. Then he recaptured the easy-going air that had served as a mask in harder times than this. "She glamoured me, Miss Grant—on my faith, she did—whenever Kit would leave her side. The kindest eyes that ever peeped from behind a lattice."
"Miss Bingham seems to be prodigal of the gifts that heaven has given her."
"True charity, believe me—to spend what one has, and spend it royally."
"She seems, indeed, to be a very perfect hoyden. Oh, I am weary! Marston Moor is lost. Ripley is lost. Are we going to ride for ever along dreary roads?"
"Three of us go on foot—Kit the baby, Elizabeth and I. We have no grumbles."