"Nothing at all, except what you see in me."
He said gravely: "I see Joan; older certainly, and grey-haired like myself, but still Joan. What else could I see?"
She was silent, plucking at some moss with nervous fingers. It was kind of Richard to pretend that the change in her had not shocked him, as, of course, it must have done. She knew instinctively that he was kind, a man one could trust, should the need arise. But she was not interested in Richard or herself, she cared very little for the impression they were making on each other. One question, and one only, burnt to get asked, yet her diffidence was keeping her silent. At last she took courage.
"How is Elizabeth? It's a long time since I last saw her."
He looked at her quickly. "Yes, it must be a long time, now I come to think of it," he said, "I saw her last year, you know, when I was in Cape Town."
She longed to shake the information out of him, his voice sounded so dull and non-committal. "Is she happy?" she asked.
"Happy? Oh! that's a large order, Joan. Those goats over there are probably happy, at least they have a good chance of being so; but when you come to the higher animals like men and women, it's a very different thing. We poor human beings with our divine heritage, we think too much; we know too much and too little to be really happy, I fancy."
"Yes, I expect you're right," she agreed, but she did not want to hear about the psychological problems of the race in general, according to Richard; she wanted to hear about Elizabeth.
Possibly he divined her thoughts, for he went on quickly, "But you don't care at this moment for the worries and troubles of mankind, do you? You just want to know all about Elizabeth."
She touched his sleeve almost timidly. "Will it bore you to tell me, Richard?"