"What's the matter with her?" said Hubert abruptly, as soon as he judged that they were out of hearing of the couple in front.
"Who do you mean? Laura? Why, she's well enoof!"
"Then she don't look it. She's fretting. What's wrong with her?"
As Hubert looked down upon his sister, Polly was startled by the impatient annoyance of look and manner. And how red-rimmed and weary were the lad's eyes! You might have thought he had not slept for a week. Polly's mind ran through a series of conjectures; and she broke out with Westmoreland plainness—
"Hubert, I do wish tha wouldn't be sich a fool! I've towd tha so times and times."
"Aye, and you may tell me so till kingdom come—I shan't mind you," he said doggedly. "There's something between her and the Squire, I know there is. I know it by the look of her."
Polly laughed.
"How you jump! I tell tha she never says a word aboot him."
Hubert looked moodily at Laura's little figure in front.
"All the more reason!" he said between his teeth. "She'd talk about him when she first came. But I'll find out—never fear."