“I am sorry you don’t like the tropics,” he said. “I think you would, though, if you had ever been there. It is more natural than England. Yes, you laugh, but I know what I mean. I should like to show you the bright-coloured flowers, and the birds, and all the things so full of colour—there’s no colour here. I tell Bell and Marie so, and they tell me it is I that can’t see. And then the winter——” Gus shuddered as he spoke.
“But you ought to have gone out more,” said Dolly, “and taken exercise; that makes the blood run in your veins. Oh, I like the winter! We have not had any skating here for years. It has been so mild. I like a good sharp frost, and no wind, and a real frosty sun, and the ice bearing. You don’t know how delightful it is.”
“No, indeed,” said Gus, with a shudder. “But, perhaps,” he added, “if one had a bright little companion like you, one might be tempted to move about more. Bell and Marie are delightful children, but they are a little too young, you know.”
“But Alice——” said Dolly, with a little anxiety.
“Alice never has quite forgiven me, I fear; and then she has her mother to think of; and they always tell me she cannot do this or that for her mourning. It is very right to wear mourning, I don’t doubt,” said Gus, “but never to be able to go out, or meet your fellow-creatures——”
“That would be impossible!” said Dolly, with decision. “It is not a year yet. You did not know poor Sir William. But next winter it will be different, and we must all try to do our best”—for Lady Markham, she was going to say—but he interrupted her.
“That will be very kind, Miss Dolly. I think you could do a great deal without trying very much. I always feel more cheerful in your company. Do you remember the first time we ever were in each other’s company, on the railway?”
“Oh, yes,” cried Dolly. She was very incautious. “I thought you were such a——” She did not say queer little man, but felt as if she had said it, so near was it to her lips; and blushed, which pleased Gus greatly, and made him imagine a much more flattering conclusion. “You asked me a great deal about poor Paul,” she said, “and then we met them coming home; and Sir William, oh! how ill he looked—as if he would die!”
“You remember that day?” said Gus, much delighted, “and so do I. You told me a great deal about my family. It was strange to talk of my family as if I had been a stranger, and to hear so much about them.”
“I thought you were a stranger, Sir Augustus.”