Alice had given him excellent opportunities for
egotism, but the blind young man had not taken them. The girl, having
been brought up to a very simple and natural conception of talk, thought
no more about it, except that she would have liked so great a traveller
to speak more generously. No doubt, after all, this reticence was
preferable to self-revelation. Mr. Stocks had been her companion that
morning in the drive to Etterick, and he had entertained her with a
sketch of his future. He had declined, somewhat nervously, to talk of
his early life, though the girl, with her innate love of a fighter,
would have listened with pleasure. But he had sketched his political
creed, hinted at the puissance of his friends, claimed a monopoly of the
purer sentiments of life, and rosily augured the future. The girl had
been silent--the man had thought her deeply impressed; but now the
morning's talk seemed to point a contrast, and Mr. Lewis Haystoun
climbed to a higher niche in the temple of her esteem.
Afar off the others were signaling that lunch was ready, but the two on
the rock were blind.
"I think you are right to go away," said Alice. "You would be too well
off here. One would become a very idle sort of being almost at once."
"And I am glad you agree with me, Miss Wishart. 'Here is the shore, and
the far wide world's before me,' as the song says.
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