“Oh, confound it all! what's the use of harping forever on one string, and putting a fellow in a corner all the time? You insist on holding an inquisition about thoughts and intentions. How do I know any thing about that? You may examine me about facts if you choose, but you haven't any business to ask any thing more.”
“Well, I suppose it is rather unfair,” said the lady in a sweet voice, “to force one to explain all one's thoughts and intentions; so, mon cher, let's cry quits. At any rate, you receive me for your ally, your adviser, your guide, philosopher, and friend. If you want incognitos or disguises, come to me.”
“Well, I suppose I must,” said Leon, “since you are here, and won't go; and perhaps you may yet be really useful, but—”
“But at first I ought to know what the present condition is of this 'business' of yours.”
“Oh, I've no objection to tell you now, since you know so much; in fact, I believe you know all, as it is.”
“Well, not quite all.”
“It seems to me,” said Leon, “if we're going to talk over this matter any further, we might find some better place than the middle of a public road. Let me see,” he continued, looking all around—“where shall we go?”
As he looked around his eyes caught sight of the little river that flowed near, on its course through Dalton to the Bristol Channel. Some trees grew on the margin, and beneath them was some grass. It was not more than twenty yards away.
“Suppose we sit there by the river,” said Leon, “and we can talk it over.”
The lady nodded, and the two walked to the river margin.