"Not in the least, my dear!"
"No, Uncle John."
They walked another mile, and presently stopped at the top of a breezy hill, to draw breath, and look about them. The sun was going down in a cheerful blaze; the whole country smiled, and was glad of its own beauty. Mr. Montfort gazed about him, and heaved a long sigh of content.
"Pretty! Pretty country!" he said. "Spreading fields, quiet woods, sky over all, undisturbed. Yes! You are very silent, my dear. Have I been silent, too, or have I been talking?"
"What a curious question!" thought Margaret.
"You—you have not said much, Uncle John," she replied.
"Well, my love, that may be because there isn't much to say. Some situations, Margaret, are best met in silence."
Margaret nodded. She knew her uncle's ways pretty well by this time.
"And yet," continued Mr. Montfort, "it may be well to have just a word of understanding with you, my dear child. Sophronia Montfort is my own cousin, my first cousin."
"Yes, Uncle John," said Margaret, as he seemed to pause for a reply.