'What a beautiful moon!' exclaims Cissy presently, hardly knowing what to say.
'Yes;' absently.
'And for this time of year, how wonderfully mild it is—not in the least cold—as one might expect.'
'Yes—no—is it not?'
'I really don't know what you think about it,' says Miss Mordaunt impatiently. 'I for my part find it almost warm; but of course I cannot answer for you. Probably all this time you are feeling desperately cold.'
This little petulant outburst rouses Halkett.
'No!' he says with sudden energy and warmth; 'I am not. It is not in my nature to be cold in any way. I feel most things keenly: more especially slights from those I love. All ill-concealed disdain, unkind speeches, fickleness, touch me closely.'
'I can sympathise with you,' says Cissy calmly. 'I think nothing can be so bad as inconstancy—except perhaps deceit.'
This retort being as unexpected as it is evidently meant, puzzles Halkett to such a degree that he becomes absolutely silent. Miss Mordaunt, with her white shawl drawn closely round her slight black-robed figure, walks quietly beside him with the air of an offended queen, her head held rather higher than usual, a pretty look of scorn upon her lips.
After a while Halkett pulls up abruptly and faces her in the narrow pathway. 'What is the reason of your changed behaviour towards me to-day and yesterday?' he says shortly. 'I think I have a right to ask that.'