"I knew you were," she laughed, affecting to treat the matter lightly. "You scarcely replied to me."
"Forgive me, won't you?" he asked, smiling again in his old way.
"Of course," she said. "But—but is the matter very serious? Does it concern yourself?"
"Yes, Enid, it does," he answered.
And still she walked on, her eyes cast down, much puzzled.
Two woodmen passed on their way home from work, and raised their caps politely, while Walter acknowledged their salutation in French.
"I shall probably leave here to-morrow," her companion said as they walked back to the high road. "I am not yet certain until I receive my letters to-night."
"You are now going back to your village inn, I suppose," she laughed cheerfully.
"Yes," he said. "My host is an interesting old countryman, and has told me quite a lot about the war. He was wounded when the Germans shelled Verdun. He has told me that he knows Paul Le Pontois, for his son Jean is his servant."
"Why, Mr. Fetherston, you are really ubiquitous," cried the girl in confusion. "Why have you been watching us like this?"