"I scarcely remember how long," she answered. "It seems ages and ages. Won't you tell me all the news?"
"I shall be delighted," he said; and he walked away by her side.
"Father writes to me every week or two," she went on, "but I can never get any news out of him. I suppose it is that nothing happens in St. Goram."
"In the main we move in the old ruts," he answered slowly. "Besides, your father will not be interested in the common people, as they are called."
"He is getting very tired of the place. He wants to get his household into the very smallest compass, so that he can spend more time in London and abroad."
"Do you like living in London?"
"In the winter, very much; but in the summer I pine for St. Goram. I want the breeze of the downs and the shade of the plantation."
"But you will be running down before the summer is over?"
"I am afraid not. To begin with, I cannot get away very well, and then I think my father intends practically to shut up the house at the end of this month."
"And your brother?"