She ought to have been disposed to faint and scream at all these happenings; she ought to have maintained a front of outraged dignity to veil the sinking of her heart. “This wonderful affection of yours for my sister, does it date from your first meeting with her in Paris?” He hesitated. After all, why need one look down. The cultivated indifference, which was part of the armour of his little world fell away from him. After what seemed like an eternity he turned right onto a dirt road that ended unceremoniously at a copse of leafless trees. She was not afraid exactly, but there was that about her loneliness to-night she distrusted. With this view, he hurried to the spot where he had left the post-chaise, and found it drawn up at the road-side, the postilion dismounted, and in charge of a couple of farming-men.
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