There was a long silence. Sophy tried to shake off the chill which had fallen upon her heart by vigorously poking the fire. At length she ventured a glance at her silent companion. He was looking down intently at her.
"You seem pretty old," she said, with that bluntness so common to uneducated people, and from which those above them wince in disgust—"are you married?"
"No, my dear; a bachelor, at your service."
"If you had a wife and children, they would cure you of these strange fancies."
"Do you really think so?"
"I am sure of it."
There was another long silence.
Her companion heaved a deep, melancholy sigh, and his thoughts seemed to break out into words, without any intention on the part of their owner.
"I have plenty to keep both wife and children, and I would gladly marry to-morrow, if I thought any good woman would have me."
Sophy smiled, and looked down into her lap. She twisted the strings of her checked apron round her fingers, the apron itself into every possible shape. At length she started from her seat.