"I have been thinking for you," said her uncle.
"You mean—Surely you don't want me to marry Judge Marriott?"
"No, Barbara," and he smiled. "I am too young myself yet to care for the judge as a nephew."
"Ah! We are talking absurdly, aren't we?" she said, and although she laughed she still looked towards the distant hills. "Of course, I could never marry a man I didn't love, and to have a man chosen for you would naturally prevent your loving him, wouldn't it?"
"To advise is not to force, Barbara."
"Who is the man you have thought of?" she asked.
"You cannot guess?"
"Has he grey eyes and a low, strong voice and—"
"Grey eyes!" said Sir John, glancing at her sharply.
"Grey eyes—yes." She had spoken dreamily, only half conscious that she had put thoughts into words. Now she laughed and went on gaily, "I have always thought I should like to marry a man with grey eyes. Girls get fancies like that sometimes. Foolish, isn't it?"