I only thought it was Thorold, and held my breath
to hear, or rather to feel. My ears seemed sharpened beyond
all their usual faculty.
"And you haven't gone and fallen in love, callant, meanwhile,
just to complicate affairs?" said the voice of Miss Cardigan.
"I shall never fall in love," said Thorold, with (I suppose)
mock gravity. His voice sounded so.
"Why not?"
"I require too much."
"It's like your conceit!" said Miss Cardigan. "Now, what is
it that you require? I would like to know; that is, if you
know yourself. It appears you have thought about it."
"I have thought, till I have got it all by heart," said
Thorold. "The worst is, I shall never find it in this world."
"That's likely. Come, lad, paint your picture, and I'll tell
you if _I_ know where to look," said Miss Cardigan.
"And then, you'll search for me?"
"I dinna ken if you deserve it," said Miss Cardigan.
"I don't deserve it, of course," said Thorold. "Well — I have
painted the likeness a good many times. The first thing is a
pair of eyes as deep and grey as our mountain lakes.
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