"
"And yet it is time."
"Yesterday I was a child," she answered, her eyes looking towards the
distant hills. A pair of grey eyes seemed to be watching her.
"You were born before your mother was your age," Sir John answered. "I
was prepared to look with favour upon any man on whom your choice had
fallen. It has fallen on no one, you say."
"I have said so. We must wait a little while. I am very happy as I am."
"I have been thinking for you," said her uncle.
"You mean--Surely you don't want me to marry Judge Marriott?"
"No, Barbara," and he smiled. "I am too young myself yet to care for the
judge as a nephew."
"Ah! We are talking absurdly, aren't we?" she said, and although she
laughed she still looked towards the distant hills. "Of course, I could
never marry a man I didn't love, and to have a man chosen for you would
naturally prevent your loving him, wouldn't it?"
"To advise is not to force, Barbara."
"Who is the man you have thought of?" she asked.
"You cannot guess?"
"Has he grey eyes and a low, strong voice and--"
"Grey eyes!" said Sir John, glancing at her sharply.
"Grey eyes--yes." She had spoken dreamily, only half conscious that she
had put thoughts into words.
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