‘All horrible indolence, Miss Sinnet. But I often—often think of you; and especially just lately.’
‘Well, now,’ she wriggled round her head to get a better view of him rather stiffly seated on his chair, ‘that’s very peculiar; because I too have been thinking lately a great deal of you. And yet—I fancy I shall succeed in mystifying you presently—not precisely of you, but of somebody else!’
‘You do mystify me—“somebody else”!’ he replied gallantly. ‘And that is the story, I suppose?’
‘That’s the story,’ repeated Miss Sinnet with some little triumph. ‘Now, let me see; it was on Saturday last—yes, Saturday evening; a wonderful sunset; Bewley Heath.’
‘Oh yes; my daughter’s favourite walk.’
‘And your daughter’s age now?’
‘She’s nearly sixteen; Alice, you know.’
‘Ah, yes, Alice; to be sure. It is a beautiful walk, and if fine, I generally take mine there too. It’s near; there’s shade; it’s very little frequented; and I can wander and muse undisturbed. And that I think is pretty well all that an old woman like me is fit for, Mr Lawford. “Nearly sixteen!” Is it possible? Dear, dear me? But let me get on. On my way home from the Heath, you may be aware, before one reaches the road again, there’s a somewhat steep ascent. I haven’t the strength I had, and whether I’m fatigued or not, I have always made it a rule to rest awhile on a most convenient little seat at the summit, admire the view—what I can see of it—and then make my way quietly, quietly home. On Saturday, however, and it most rarely occurs—once, I remember, when a very civil nursemaid was sitting with two charmingly behaved little children in the sunshine, and I heard they were my old friend Major Loder’s son’s children—on Saturday, as I was saying, my own particular little haunt was already occupied.’ She glanced back at him from out of her thoughts, as it were. ‘By a gentleman. I say, gentleman; though I must confess that his conduct—perhaps, too, a little something even in his appearance, somewhat belied the term. Anyhow, gentleman let us call him.’
Lawford, all attention, nodded, and encouragingly smiled.
‘I’m not one of those tiresome, suspicious people, Mr Lawford, who distrust strangers. I have never been molested, and I have enjoyed many and many a most interesting, and sometimes instructive, talk with an individual whom I’ve never seen in my life before, and this side of the grave perhaps, am never likely to see again.’ She lifted her head with pursed lips, and gravely yet still flickeringly regarded him once more. ‘Well, I made some trifling remark—the weather, the view, what-not,’ she explained with a little jerk of her shoulder—‘and to my extreme astonishment he turned and addressed me by name—Miss Sinnet. Unmistakably—Sinnet. Now, perhaps, and very rightly, you won’t considered that a very peculiar thing to do? But you will recollect, Mr Lawford, that I had been sitting there a considerable time. Surely, now, if you had recognised my face you would have addressed me at once?’