What, exactly, did he mean by that? She looked around at him; he was absorbed in scooping a hole in the pine-needles with his riding-crop.
She made up her mind that his speech did not always express his thoughts; that it was very pleasant to listen to, but rather vague than precise.
“It is quite necessary,” he mused aloud, “that I meet your father—”
She looked up quickly. “Oh! have you business with him?”
“Not at all,” said Burleson.
This time the silence was strained; Miss Elliott remained very still and thoughtful.
“I think,” he said, “that this country is only matched in paradise. It is the most beautiful place on earth!”
To this astonishing statement she prepared no answer. The forest was attractive, the sun perhaps brighter than usual—or was it only her imagination due to her own happiness in selling The Witch?
“When may I call upon Mr. Elliott?” he asked, suddenly. “To-night?”
No; really he was too abrupt, his conversation flickering from one subject to another without relevance, without logic. She had no time to reflect, to decide what he meant, before, crack! he was off on another trail—and his English no vehicle for the conveyance of his ideas.