"Yes; come back--for just a minute. I know what you're thinking: that
it's my duty to be talking to parishioners. Well, I've been doing
that all the evening. I think I'm entitled to a moment of relaxation;
don't you?"
"I'm a parishioner," she reminded him.
"So you are," he agreed joyously. "And I haven't had a word with you
this evening, so far; so you see it's my duty to talk to you; and
it's your duty to listen."
"Well?" she murmured.
Her face upturned to his in the moonlight wore the austere loveliness
of a saint's.
[Illustration: Her face upturned to his in the moonlight, wore the
austere loveliness of a saint's.]
"I wish you'd tell me something," he said, his fine dark eyes taking
in every detail of delicate tint and outline. "Do you know it all
seems very strange and unusual to me--your coming to Brookville the
way you did, and doing so much to--to make the people here happy."
She drew a deep, sighing breath.
"I'm afraid it isn't going to be easy," she said slowly. "I thought
it would be; but--"
"Then you came with that intention," he inferred quickly. "You meant
to do it from the beginning. But just what was the beginning? What
ever attracted your attention to this forlorn little place?"
She was silent for a moment, her eyes downcast. Then she smiled.
"I might ask you the same question," she said at last. "Why did you
come to Brookville, Mr. Elliot?"
He made an impatient gesture.
"Oh, that is easily explained.
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