Had he been so unfortunate as to offend her? And in what way? As that doubt occurred to Herbert his mind turned to Catherine. She never took offense at trifles; a word of kindness from him, no matter how unimportant it might be, always claimed affectionate acknowledgment in the days when he was living with his wife. In another moment he had dismissed that remembrance, and could trust himself to return to Sydney.
“If you find that Sandyseal confirms your first impression,” he said, “let me know it in time, so that I may make arrangements for a longer stay. I have only taken the rooms here for a fortnight.”
“Thank you, Herbert; I think a fortnight will be long enough.”
“Long enough for you?” he asked.
Her morbid sensitiveness mistook him again; she fancied there was an undernote of irony in his tone.
“Long enough for both of us,” she replied.
He drew a chair to her side. “Do you take it for granted,” he said, smiling, “that I shall get tired of the place first?”
She shrank, poor creature, even from his smile. There was, as she thought, something contemptuous in the good-humor of it.
“We have been to many places,” she reminded him, “and we have got tired of them together.”
“Is that my fault?”