“No. I never want to nurse women or children, but I am sorry for men, especially when they are plucky, as he is. I wonder who he can be?”
“So do I,” said Lucian. “I’d also like to know why he shied so violently at the notion of cider. I dare say we shall hear.”
They left off talking by common consent. The entrance of the stranger had checked and turned their thoughts, and, strangely enough, seemed to dislocate their simple and friendly relation. Dolly took out her butter, pulled down her sleeves, and turned her attention to the bacon. When she broke silence it was to speak of a fresh subject, one which she had not meant to broach that morning, though it had been on her mind since the night before.
“Mr. de Saumarez, will you take a message from me to Mr. Farquhar?”
“With all my heart, only I’ve a kind of idea that he’d rather you told him yourself.”
“No, but I would not. I don’t wish to see him again for the present. I don’t wish to see him for three months.”
“Three months!”
“Yes.”
“That’s a long time, Dolly.”
“Not long for what I want to do.”