But the grave look that was on her face, and the silence so unusual to her, which John had seen and taken for symptoms of other feelings, were in reality caused by the gravity of her thoughts about himself more than by any other cause. She had been almost glad to have her solitude interrupted in order to escape from her thoughts, but they were still in possession of her mind; and when John had heard their voices in the distance, the two were but beginning to talk. Their conversation was quite unobjectionable: he might have heard every word, as she said afterwards. It was kind of Fred Huntley, seeing her so serious, to try to take her mind off her own troubles. He did not launch forth into foolish talk, such as that which he permitted himself sometimes to indulge in, when their _tête-à-tête_ went on under the eyes of a roomful of people. He began to tell her about his own prospects and intentions; how he had made up his mind to offer himself as a candidate to represent Camelford at the next election. He had been asked to do so, and he had given a great deal of thought to the subject. “It binds one, and takes away one’s personal liberty,” he had said; “but, after all, one never has any personal liberty--and something certain to do, that one can take an interest in, is always, I suppose,” he added, with a sigh, “next best.” “Next best to what?” cried Kate, but fortunately for herself left him no time to answer. “I never pretended to be strong-minded,” she ran on; “but to help to govern one’s own country must be the finest thing in the world. Oh, please, don’t smile like that. You think so, or you would not make up your mind to take so much trouble for nothing at all.” “Much the member for Camelford will have to do in the governing of the country!” said Fred; “but still it is true enough: and I suppose when a man is bored to death on a committee, he has as fine a sense that if he die it is in the service of his country, as if he were burrowing in the trenches somewhere. Yes, I suppose when there is nothing pleasanter in hand it is the right sort of thing to do.” “I don’t know what pleasanter sort of thing you could have in hand,” said Kate. “No, perhaps not; but I do. I can fancy quite a different sort of life--something out of my reach as far as that branch is,” said Fred, carelessly catching at a high bough which seemed to hang miles over his head against the smiling blue. “Hollo! it is not so far out of reach neither,” he added with a quick glance at her, and speaking half under his breath. “I wish it had been out of your reach,” said Kate; “just look what you have done! sprinkled me all over and spoiled my ribbon; and the dew is so cold,” she said, with a little shiver. “Mr Huntley, I think I should prefer Parliament if I were you.”