"Yes."
Silence fell between us like a shadow; then:
"Yonder rides Sir George Covert," she said, listlessly.
I saw him dismounting before his door, but said nothing.
"Shall we move forward?" she asked, but did not stir a finger towards the bridle lying on her horse's neck.
Another silence; and, impatiently:
"I cannot bear to have you go," she said; "we are perfectly contented together--and I wish you to know all the thoughts I have touching on the world and on people. I cannot tell them to my father, nor to Ruyven--and Cecile is too young--"
"There is Sir George," I said.
"He! Why, I should never think of telling him of these thoughts that please or trouble or torment me!" she said, in frank surprise. "He neither cares for the things you care for nor thinks about them at all."
"Perhaps he does. Ask him."