And apparently she had a good deal of thinking to do; for she was quite silent for some time. And Mr. Digby on his part went back to his problem, how was he to tell Rotha what he had promised to tell her? From their somewhat elevated and withdrawn position, the moving scene before them was most bright and gay. An endless procession of equipages--beautiful carriages, stately horses, pompous attendants, luxurious pleasure-takers; one after another, and twos and threes following each other, a continuous stream; carriages of all sorts, landaus, Victorias, clarences, phaetons, barouches, close coaches, dog carts, carryalls, gigs, buggies. Now and then a country affair, with occupants to match; now a plain wagon with a family of children having a good time; now an old gentleman and his wife taking a sober airing; then a couple of ladies half lost in the depths of their cushions, and not having at all a good time, to judge by their looks; and then a young man with nobody but himself and a pair of fast trotting horses, which had, and needed, all his attention; and then a whirl of the general thing, fine carriages, fine ladies, fine gentlemen, fine servants and fine horses; in all varieties of combination. It was very pretty; it was very gay; the young foliage of early summer was not yet discouraged and dulled by the heat and the dust; the air was almost country sweet, and flowers were brilliant in one of the plantations within sight. How the world went by!-- Mr. Digby had half forgotten it and everything else, in his musings, when he was aroused, and well nigh startled, by a question from Rotha. "Mr. Digby--can I help my will?" He looked down at her. "What do you mean, Rotha?" "I mean, can I help my will? I asked mother one day, and she said I had better ask you." Rotha's eyes came up to his face with their query; and whatever it might import, he saw that she was in earnest. Grave and intent the girl's fine dark eyes were, and came up to his eyes with a kind of power of search. "I do not think I understand you." "Yes, you do. If I do not like something--do not want to be something-- can I help my will?" "What do you not want to be?" said Mr. Digby, waiving this severe question in mental philosophy. "Must I tell you?" "Not if you don't like; but I think it might help me to get at your difficulty, and so to get at the answer you want." "Mr. Digby, can a person want to do something, and yet not be willing?" "Yes," said he, in growing surprise. "Then, can he _help_ not being willing?" "What is the case in hand, Rotha? I am wholly in the dark. I do not know what you would be at." To come nearer to the point was not Rotha's wish and had not been her purpose; she hesitated. However, the subject was one which exercised her, and the opportunity of discussing her difficulty with Mr. Digby was very tempting. She hesitated, but she could not let the chance go.