“Don’t remember her,” answered Juliet, carelessly. “I don’t read many English novels. They are too slow for me.”
On the hunting day he missed even that brief visit, and was expectant of her coming all the evening, as she had promised to make up for the day’s absence. But the night was wet, and she told him next day that she did not like to take out Lady Burdenshaw’s horse and man in such weather.
“The stable people would have resented it, and I am obliged to stand well with the stable,” she said.
He thought she had a troubled look that day. It seemed to him that it cost her an effort to keep her attention upon any subject, and she lapsed into silence every now and then, looking dreamily out of the window to the thatched roofs and ploughed fields in the distance.
“I’m afraid you have something on your mind,” he said.
“What nonsense! What put such an idea into your head?”
“You are so thoughtful, and so much more silent than usual.”
“There is so little to talk about in a sick room. If I were to tell you about our doings at Medlow I should only bore you.”
“Not at all. I should be very pleased to hear how you amuse yourself. Is Major Swanwick still there?”
“Yes; he is still there.”