She was at a loss quite what to answer. Could he mean this: he who prided himself on the becoming stateliness of his house?
"Oh, I think it is a very fine and—and—impressive room, Heriot," she answered guardedly.
"It's too big and gloomy for a widower. It makes one feel kind of lonely."
The widow smiled sweetly. She quite understood what he meant now. The reminiscence of the late Captain Dunbar faded away, and once more she was sympathy itself.
"Are you often lonely?" she inquired softly.
He looked up into her face with a curious hint of boyishness in his face.
"Not while you are here, Madge."
Again a species of divine instinct possessed Mr. Walkingshaw. Without permission asked or given, he took his fair cousin's hand and gently held it. At the same time a longing to be confidential invaded him. He had a really prime secret to share with her.
"I am going up to London to-morrow morning!" he announced.
It did not surprise her that business should take him up to town; it did that his eyes should twinkle at the prospect. She began to feel a trifle less sympathetic.