Through all the week and Sunday
—until for laughing and folly—I—they——"
To his amazement her voice broke; into her strange eyes sprang tears, and she turned swiftly away and went and stood by the curtained window.
"Well, by gad!" he thought, "of all morbid little things! affected to tears by what happened to somebody else a hundred and thirty odd years ago! Women are sure the limit!"
And in more suitable terms he asked her why she should make herself unhappy.
She said: "I am happy. It is only when I am here that I am lonely and the dead past lives again among these wooded hills."
"Are you not—usually—here?" he asked, surprised. "I thought you lived here."
"No. I live elsewhere, usually. I am too unhappy here. I never remain very long."
"Then why do you ever come here?" he asked, amused.
"I don't know. I am very happy elsewhere. But—I come. Women do such things."