"Think of what?" said Margaret, a little disdainfully.
"Think that he has come all this way for nothing but the chance of seeing you; of perhaps saying a few words to set himself right."
"If he wished to speak to me, he might have said so," she answered. "Not that I see any reason to change my mind on that point, or any good that can come, possibly, or for ever, if he could talk and I listen for so long."
"Well, but you can't doubt what he has come for," said Miss Sheckleton.
"I don't doubt, because I don't mean to think about it," said the young lady, looking fiercely up toward the gilded weather vanes that glimmered on the grey pinnacles of the château.
"Yes, but it is not a matter of doubt, or of thinking, but of fact, for he did say so," pleaded Miss Sheckleton.
"I wish we were in Italy, or some out-of-the-way part of Spain," said the handsome girl, in the same vein, and walking still onward; "I always said this was too near England, too much in the current."
"No, dear, it is a quiet place," said good Anne Sheckleton.
"No, cousin Anne, it is the most unquiet place in all the world," answered the girl, in a wild, low tone, as she walked on.
"And he wants to speak to you; he entreats a few words, a very few."