"God forbid he should—a little sad sometimes."
She was silent for a few moments, and then resumed her pen. I cannot describe how charming this visit was to me. Miss Vernon's little white hand wrote on busily all the time, while sometimes glancing up at me, but generally looking at her work. I felt none of the gêne of a formal tête à tête, where the visitor and visited sit both upright, compelled to stare at each other; but leaning back in my chair, I talked and gazed at my ease.
"I can hardly believe the evidence of my senses that I am in calm conversation with the incognita who so puzzled me," I resumed after a pause.
"Yes, it is very curious, but still more so that the discovery of our mutual acquaintance with Lady Desmond led to no dénouement," said my companion.
"I knew her no further than meeting her frequently in society in Dublin, where I was about four years ago, with a cousin of mine, who was on the staff."
"She is a second cousin of grandpapa's, and I was a good deal with her just before we came here: not long, I fancy, after you had known her; and knowing how general her parties and invitations were, I really at one time imagined I might have met you at some of them: I little thought what a much older acquaintance I was dancing with."
"She is a handsome woman," I observed, "and, I fancy, not unlike Colonel Vernon."
"How brilliant and how kind she is," she exclaimed, "I often wonder the hurried life she leads gives her space to breathe! I doubt if she has time to be happy."