One day, during this, time of sickness in the village and Edgar's lonely residence at the Hill, Leam was riding along the Green Lanes, a pretty bit of quiet country, when she heard the well-known hoofs thundering rapidly behind her, and in due time Major Harrowby drew rein at her side. "I saw you from the Sherrington road," he said, his eyes kindling with pleasure at the meeting.
Leam smiled, that pretty little fluttering smile which was so peculiarly her own, playing like a flicker of tender sunshine over her face, but she felt gladder than she showed. It was not her way to flourish her feelings like flags in the face of men. Her reticence was part of her dislike to noise and glare. "I am glad to see you," she returned quietly, her eyes raised for a moment to his.
"I sometimes fear I annoy you by joining you so often," said Edgar.
"No, you do not annoy me," Leam answered.
"It is a pleasure to know at least as much as that," he returned with a forced laugh.
"Yes? But why should you think that you annoy me?" she asked.
"Oh, perhaps you see too much of me, and so get tired of me. The thing is possible," he said, stroking his horse's ears.
Leam looked at him as she had looked before, but this time without the smile. "Are you tired of me that you say so?" she asked.
"No, no, no! How can you say such a thing—how dream it?" cried Edgar. "How could I be tired of you? Why, you are the sunshine of my life, the one thing I "—he checked himself—"I look forward to meeting," he added awkwardly.
"Then why should I be tired of you?" she returned. "You are kind to me; you tell me things I do not know; and," with maddening unconsciousness of how her words might be taken, "there is no one else."