'Yes,' he murmured, 'more so than usual. I suppose a new fund of energy creeps into my somnolent being.'
'Do you really believe,' inquired Mrs. Wylie, with exceeding great interest, 'that the weather has so much effect upon one as that?'
'I am sure of it. There is no denying the fact that in the springtime, when all things are beginning to grow, men grow energetic. If they be working, they work harder; fighting, fight harder; playing, play harder. The majority of events happen in the first six months of the year.'
'So the unexpected may be expected before July,' suggested Mrs. Wylie quietly.
'That may be expected at all times.'
Thus they talked on in vague commonplaces, not entirely devoid of a second meaning perhaps. Brenda scarcely joined in the conversation. It was enough for her to listen to these two strangely assorted friends, who seemed to her analytical mind to be rather different in each other's company than they were before the rest of the world. She never quite lost her youthful habit of studying human minds—picking them to pieces, dissecting them, assigning motives, seeking reasons—and her belief in the influence of one will over another (even at a distance) was singularly strong. She was pleased to consider that Theodore Trist and Mrs. Wylie possessed some hidden sympathies in common beyond the mere ties of friendship; and it is probable that she gained some instruction and perhaps a little benefit in watching their intercourse. Certain it is that each in turn spoke to the other as he or she spoke to no one else. Each possessed a power of bringing out certain qualities in the other, which power was unique. And so Brenda, who was at no time a talkative woman, listened in silence as they walked home to Wyl's Hall across the deserted moor.
When they had reached the house the girl went upstairs to remove her hat and jacket, leaving her two companions together in the library. This was a good-sized room, with a broad old-fashioned bow-window, of which even the panes of glass were curved, while all round it there was a low window-seat softly cushioned. In the broad fireplace some logs of driftwood burnt slowly and silently, with a steady glow of heat, as only driftwood burns.
Trist went straight to the window and stood in the centre of it, with his strong lean hands hanging idly. His eyes were soft and meek and dreamy as ever, while his limbs seemed full of strength and energy. The old incongruity was still apparent.
Mrs. Wylie followed him, and seated herself by the window at the end of the bow, so that the man's profile was visible to her. Thus they remained for some seconds; then he turned with grave deliberation and met her steady gaze.
'Well...?' she inquired.