That is _one_." "The fair Zephine is no more!--by-the-by, I suppose I should have heard of that." "It is nothing about the fair Zephine--wrong again! That is _two_!" "Barbara has got leave to stay till Easter!" "Nothing about Barbara!"-- (with a slight momentary pang at the ease and unconcern with which he mentions her name).--"By-the-by, I wish you would give up calling her 'Barbara;' she never calls you 'Frank!' There, you have had your three guesses, and you have never come within a mile of it--I shall have to tell you--_Roger is coming back!_" opening my eyes and beginning to laugh joyously.
"_Soon ?_" with a quick and breathless change of tone, that I cannot help perceiving, turning sharply upon me.
"_At once!_" reply I, triumphantly; "we may expect him _any day_!" He receives this information in total silence.

He does not attempt the faintest or slightest congratulation.
"I wish I had not told you!" cry I, indignantly; "what a fool I was to imagine that you would feel the slightest interest in any thing that did not concern yourself personally! Of course" (turning a scarlet face and blazing eyes full upon him), "I did not expect you to _feel_ glad--I have known you too long for that--but you might have had the common civility to _say_ you were!" We have stopped.

We stand facing each other in the narrow wood-path, while the beck noisily babbles past, and the thrushes answer each other in lovely dialogue.

He is deadly pale; his lips are trembling, and his eyes--involuntarily I look away from them! "I am _not_ glad!" he says, with slow distinctness; "often--often you have blamed me for _hinting_ and _implying_ for using innuendoes and half-words, and once--_once_, do you recollect ?--you told me to my face that I _lied_! Well, I will not _lie_ now; you shall have no cause to blame me to-day.

I will tell you the truth, the truth that you know as well as I do--I am _not_ glad!" Absolute silence.