But Eleanor did not speak for what seemed a very long time, except when Michael, who felt the silence absolutely unbearable, said to her once, in a curt tone, to cover his unhappiness, ‘Don’t you think we had better trot along this road? You will get cold if we go too slowly.’ To which she replied in a measured voice, ‘Yes, no doubt,’ and at once put her horse into a trot, but made no further remark.
This state of things continued until, having made considerable progress, they were going up the hill towards the old bridge, and had about twenty minutes more of a ride before them. Just as they had reached the bridge and got into the light, they met Roger Camm striding out of the town. He gazed with visible astonishment at Michael and his companion, raised his hat, and passed on. Then Eleanor spoke, quite quietly and composedly.
‘Is not that your friend, Mr. Camm?’
‘Yes,’ said Michael, with a profound sense of relief. ‘But, if I may ask, how do you know he is my friend, and what do you know of him?’
‘I heard about him when Otho took me to see Miss Wynter. And Miss Dixon was there too——’
‘When was that?’ asked Michael.
‘Why, the day after I came to Thorsgarth. You were there when we called. Don’t you remember?’
‘I remember that occasion perfectly; but it is a fortnight ago.’
‘Well, I have never been since.’ Michael raised his eyebrows. She had never been since! ‘Miss Dixon came before we left,’ went on Eleanor. ‘She said Mr. Camm was going out to fetch her home. Miss Wynter told me you and he were great friends.’
‘Yes, Roger and I have knocked about together a good deal. We know the best and the worst of each other, I fancy; and if you can stick together after that it means that you are friends.’