he moon and the snow; what
it was that made those points of reflection, or what lay beneath those
soft shadows, did not appear. The road was beaten smooth, the going was
capital, the horses trotted swiftly and steadily, Lois was wrapped in
soft furs, and the air which she was breathing was merely cold enough
to exhilarate. It was perfection. In truth it was so perfect, and Lois
enjoyed it so keenly, that she began to be vexed at herself for her
enjoyment. Why should Mr. Dillwyn have got her out? all this luxury of
sense and feeling was not good for her; did not belong to her; and why
should she taste at all a delight which must be so fleeting? And what
had possessed him to tie her hood strings for her, and to do it in that
leisurely way, as if he liked it? And why did _she_ like it? Lois
scolded and chid herself. If he were going to marry Madge ever so much,
that gave him no right to take such a liberty; and she would not allow
him such liberties; she would keep him at a distance. But was she not
going to a distance herself? There would be no need.

The moonlight was troubled, though by no cloud on the ethereal
firmament; and Lois was not quite so conscious as she had been of the
beauty around her. The silence lasted a good while; she wondered if her
neighbour's thoughts were busy with the lady he had just set down, to
such a degree that he forgot to attend to his new companion? Nothing
could be more wide of the truth; but that is the way we judge and
misjudge one another. She was almost hurt at his silence, before he
spoke again. The fact is, that the general axiom that a man can always
put in words anything of which his head and heart are both full, seems
to have one exception. Mr. Dillwyn was a good talker, always, on
matters he cared about, and matters he did not care about; and yet now,
when he had secured, one would say, the most favourable circumstances
for a hearing, and opportunity to speak as he liked, he did not know
how to speak. By and by his hand came again round Lois to see that the
fur robes were well tucked in about her. Something in the action made
her impatient.

"I am very well," she said.

"You must be taken care of, you know," he said; to Lois's fancy he said
it as if there were some one to whom he must be responsible for her.

"I am not used to being taken care of," she said. "I have taken care of
myself, generally."

"Like it better?"

"I don't know. I suppose really no woman can say she l