“Isn't it odd that Tom should never have said anything about her to us? He has talked of all the rest till I knew them quite well before I went there.”
“No; it seems to me the most natural thing in the world.”
“Yes, dear, very natural. But I can't help wishing he had talked about her more; I should think it less dangerous.”
“Oh, you think Master Tom is in love with her, eh?” said Mr. Brown, laughing.
“More unlikely things have happened. You take it very easily, John.”
“Well, we have all been boys and girls, Lizzie. The world hasn't altered much, I suppose, since I used to get up at five on winter mornings, to ride some twenty miles to cover, on the chance of meeting a young lady on a grey pony. I remember how my poor dear old father used to wonder at it, when our hounds met close by in a better country. I'm afraid I forgot to tell him what a pretty creature 'Gipsy' was, and how well she was ridden.”
“But Tom is only twenty, and he must go into a profession.”
“Yes, yes; much to young, I know—too young for anything serious. We had better see them together and then if there is anything in it, we can keep them apart. There cannot be much the matter yet.”
“Well, dear, if you are satisfied, I am sure I am.”
And so the conversation turned on other subjects, and Mr. and Mrs. Brown enjoyed their moonlight drive home through the delicious summer night, and were quite sorry when the groom got down from the hind-seat to open their own gates, at half-past twelve.