As he sat in silence, I smoking hard, and he buried in thought, I heard the laughter of people some distance below us in the hills.

I guessed it to be some tourists from the summer hotel.

The voices came nearer.
A singular thought occurred to me.

I looked at Roscoe.

I saw that he was brooding, and was not noticing the voices, which presently died away.
This was a relief to me.