"I think it is time we varied our attention," said Mr. Rhys breaking silence. "We have been upon one class of subjects a good while;—suppose we try another. Don't you want to rest?"
"I am not tired,—but I have no objection."
"You are not easily tired?"
"Not about anything I like."
"You have struck a great secret of power and usefulness," he said gravely. "What do you think of this bank?—it is dry, and it is pleasant."
It would have been hardly possible to find a spot in all their way that would not have been pleasant; and from this bank they looked over a wide rich valley bordered with hills. It was not the valley where the farmhouse of Plassy stood, with its meadows and river; this was different in its features, and moreover some miles distant. Eleanor and Mr. Rhys sat down on the moss at the foot of the trees, which gave both shade and rest. It was the edge of a piece of woods, and a blackbird was again heard saluting them.
"Now if you want refreshment," said Mr. Rhys, "I can give it to you; but only of one kind."
"I don't know—I should say of several kinds," said Eleanor looking into the basket—"but the quality doubtful."
"Did you think I meant that?"
Eleanor laughed at the earnest gravity of this speech. "Mr. Rhys, I saw no other refreshment you had to offer me; but indeed I do not want any—more than I am taking."