"Yes?" he questioned, after a brief pause.
She did not reply for several seconds; then she went on as if there had been no break. "I don't think I ever thought seriously about anything before I was ill. I took everything as it came, and as most things were good, I just enjoyed myself, and there seemed nothing else in the world but just to enjoy one's self——"
"There's not much enjoyment for most people," he said, seeing she hesitated.
"I don't think enjoyment ought to be the end of life," she replied seriously. Then, suddenly raising her eyes, she said—
"Do you ever get perplexed about the future?"
"I never get anything else," he stammered. "I'm all at sea this very moment."
"You? Tell me about it," she said eagerly.
He shrugged his shoulders, and looked along the road toward the village. Should he tell her? Should he open her eyes to the doings of her own father? Should he point out some of the oppressive conditions under which the poor lived?
For a moment or two there was silence. He felt that her eyes were fixed intently on his face, that she was waiting for him to speak.
"I suppose your father has never told you that we have lost our little farm?" he questioned abruptly, turning his head and looking hard at her at the same time.