"I am sorry you are ill, Miss Wetheral."
"I never was better in my life, Mr. Pynsent," replied Anna Maria, smiling. "What makes you suppose I am ill?"
"I thought you looked very well, Miss Wetheral, but I was told you were poorly, and I am sure you look as little like a consumptive person as any one I ever saw!"
"Who could invent such a fable?" inquired Anna Maria.
"I have heard something worse than that," continued Tom, hesitating, and walking to the window.
"Good heavens! about me! or any unpleasant news from Hatton?"
"Lady Wetheral says we are not to ride again together. I think it a very extraordinary thing, don't you?" Tom Pynsent looked at the distant Wrekin to appear unconcerned. He received no reply from Anna Maria.
"I think it a monstrous folly to deny one those kind of things," proceeded Tom, turning towards his companion, who sat gazing at him, pale as her own muslin dress. He was shocked at her appearance, and, forgetting his shyness in affectionate solicitude, he took both her hands in his.
"Miss Wetheral, do you mind it as much as I do? Just tell me if you mind it as I do?"
Anna Maria could only answer in alarm, and almost involuntarily "Yes."