“Not for sale,” she replied. “I did not know you were coming out.”
“Neither did I. But Aggy was—out of sorts,” he said slowly, “out of sorts. So I sent her off to lie down and rest; and came along here at a venture, knowing how fond you are of drinking in the fresh air. Not that you seemed to be doing so just now in any great quantities, for your mouth was close shut, and you looked as if you were wanting to fight somebody. How do you feel for a sharp walk? Let’s go along to Hove and back, it’ll brisk us up; at least I want brisking up. You never seem to vary, like a weatherglass fixed at ‘set fair.’ ”
“Blessed are good appearances,” she said, tacitly accepting his suggestion; “I fancy it’s best not to show your emotions; so few people know how to sympathize. Most of them talk, and that’s the least part of sympathy—at least I think so.”
“Do I show my emotions?”
“I can only guess whether you do or not. I might think I knew what you were feeling, and I might be quite wrong.”
“What am I feeling now?”
“Glad to be out in the fresh air; glad to be moving; hoping by talking to me to be able to forget for a while—your worries.”
“My worries?” he asked, looking at her keenly, and wondering why she turned her face away and gazed steadily out at the sea. “My worries? H’m. I don’t think much of you as a thought-reader; you might say that to any busy man, who has had a hard day and most of a night working in town.”
“Yes—but you don’t usually carry your business worries about with you, as you have been doing lately.”
“Oh! Lately. Those quiet gray eyes of yours are keen. Well, it’s quite true, I am unusually worried just now, and you’ll be surprised to hear that I hate having to bear my worries alone. I used not to mind that when I was alone. You see, Aggy doesn’t understand business; it isn’t her line exactly——”