Ten o’clock.
He straightened himself, wiped the sweat from his brow, and was immediately aware of certain other sounds approaching from the wood itself. Horses—at a walk. No doubt the same gentleman and lady who had passed him an hour earlier, going in a contrary direction.
He watched them as they passed him again, repeating his reflection that they were a “fine-lookin’ couple”—no doubt sweethearts. What else should bring a young man and a young woman riding in Lathom Woods at that time in the morning? “Never seed ’em doin’ it before, anyways.”
Connie threw the old man a gracious “Good morning!”—to which he guardedly responded, looking full at her, as he stood leaning on his axe.
“I wonder what the old fellow is thinking about us!” she said lightly, when they had moved forward. Then she flushed, conscious that the remark had been ill-advised.
Falloden, who was sitting erect and rather sombre, his reins lying loosely on his horse’s neck, said slowly—
“He is probably thinking all sorts of foolish things, which aren’t true. I wish they were.”
Connie’s eyes were shining with a suppressed excitement.
“He supposes at any rate we have had a good time, and in fact—we haven’t. Is that what you mean?”
“If you like to put it so.”