"Oh, very. When shall you paint it?"
"That I don't know. Some of these odd days."
"You are not painting at all now."
"No. I don't feel settled enough at the Dolphin for that."
A pause of silence. In changing the position of his hand, still holding the book, Mr. North somehow let it touch hers. Ethel's voice trembled slightly when next she spoke.
"Shall you be going over to France again?"
"Undoubtedly. In a letter I received this morning from some of my friends there, they inquire when it is to be. I am lingering here long, they think. It was to tell Madame Guise I had heard, for she knows them, that brought me here so late."
"You--you said one day, I remember, that you might probably settle in France," resumed Ethel, inwardly shivering as she spoke it. "Shall you do so?"
"It is quite uncertain, Ethel. If things turn out as--as they ought to turn, I should then settle in England. Probably somewhere in this neighbourhood."
Their eyes met: Ethel looking up, he down. With the yearning love, that sat in each gaze, was mingled an expression of deep sadness.