"Is Miss Brunel going with you?" said Dove, her soft eyes lighting up with a faint surprise.
"Yes. Didn't you know?" replied Count Schönstein. "She is going to take a short holiday, and we hope to be honoured by her presence at Schönstein."
Dove looked at Will; he was examining a cartridge-pouch the Count had brought in, and did not observe her inquiring glance.
On their way home, he observed that she was very quiet. At first he thought she was subdued by the exceeding beauty of the twilight, which had here and there a yellow star lying lambent in the pale grey; or that she was listening to the strong, luscious music of the nightingales, which abound in the valley of St. Mary-Kirby. Presently, however, he saw that she was wilfully silent, and then he asked her what had displeased her. Her sense of wrong was of that tremulous and tender character which never reached the length of indignation; and just now, when she wanted to be very angry with him, she merely said, not in a very firm voice:
"I did not think you would deceive me, Will."
"Well, now," he said, "you have been wasting all this beautiful time and annoying yourself by nursing your grievance silently. Why didn't you speak out at once, Dove, and say how I have deceived you?"
"You said you were going abroad on business."
"So I am."
"Count Schönstein talks as if it were merely a pleasure excursion."
"So it is, to him."