'Beginningof what?'
'My catechism.'
'It is the end of it, for the present. But it seems to me, Mr. Rollo, that is, I know it seems to you that I am talking great nonsense,' said Hazel breaking off again. 'Do you live up at Mrs. Boërresen's all the time?'
'For the most partexcept when I take a run down to my old home. But yes, I live at Gyda's.'
Unspoken questions came up in her eyes, but the words came not, and the eyes themselves went down to the crimson leaf she was thoughtfully drawing through her fingers. Rollo was silent too. Half sitting half lying on the leafy slope, he was busying himself with gathering together all the acorns and acorn-cups within his reach, examining them carefully one by one, and yet with a face that grew grave and became abstracted. More time passed than he knew probably, and Hazel had leisure to come out of her own abstractions and wonder at his. He did not look as if he remembered her presence; and yet a sensible woman has no objection to such indications in a man's face,even a man that loves her,as Hazel saw now; the grave purpose, the manly power, the thoughtful reserve. When at last he spoke and looked up, he was grave still.
'Have you any idea what you are to expect, Hazel?'
'Expect!'Then rather slowly, 'I believe I am not given to expectations.'
Then he smiled, but went on, 'Do you remember our talk that evening, last winter?'
'Of course.'
'Then you know in what service I have taken a commission?'