Sir John felt that after all forty-five was not so very old. The boy was right. “I like your brother better than any other man I know,” Anna said at last. By the time he had reached the summit of this hill, he had lost all trace of them; and the ardour of the chase having in some measure subsided, he began to reproach himself for his folly, in having wandered—as he conceived—so far out of his course. “It is a great art,” she said in broken English. And what was singular she did not recount to the doctor that morning's adventure. “I’m five years older than you, and no end wiser, being a man.
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