"You speak--well, but soft!--do you know what you are talking about there?"
"Not very well," said Charlton. "I only remember there was nothing soft about Othello,--what you quoted of his wife just now seemed to me to smack of that quality."
"I forgive your memory," said Thorn, "or else I certainly would not forgive you. If there is a fair creation in all Shakespeare it is Desdemona, and if there is a pretty combination on earth that nearly matches it, I believe it is that one."
"What one?"
"Your pretty cousin."
Charlton was silent.
"It is generous in me to undertake her defence," Thorn went on, "for she bestows as little of her fair countenance upon me as she can well help. But try as she will, she cannot be so repellant as she is attractive."
Charlton pushed his horse into a brisker pace not favourable to conversation; and they rode forward in silence, till in descending the hill below Deepwater they came within view of Hugh's workplace, the saw mill. Charlton suddenly drew bridle.
"There she is."
"And who is with her?" said Thorn. "As I live!--our friend--what's his name?--who has lost all his ancestors.--And who is the other?"