“Who has said there was any harm?” The path was only broad enough for one and she was walking first. Larry was following her and the girls were behind him.
“I think that Mr. Morton is a very stuck-up fellow,” said Kate, who was the last.
“Hold your tongue, Kate,” said Mary. “You don’t know what you are talking about.”
“I know as well as anyone when a person is good-natured. What made him go off in that hoity-toity fashion? Nobody had said anything to him.”
“He always looks as though he were going to eat somebody,” said Dolly.
“He shan’t eat me,” said Kate.
Then there was a pause, during which they all went along quickly, Mary leading the way. Larry felt that he was wasting his opportunity; and yet hardly knew how to use it, feeling that the girl was angry with him.
“I wish you’d say, Mary, whether you think that I did anything wrong?”
“Nothing wrong to me, Mr. Twentyman.”
“Did I do anything wrong to him?”
“I don’t know how far you may be acquainted with him. He was proposing to go somewhere, and you offered to go with him.”
“I offered to go with you,” said Larry sturdily. “I suppose I’m sufficiently acquainted with you.”
“Quite so,” said Mary.
“Why should he be so proud? I never said an uncivil word to him. He’s nothing to me. If he can do without me, I’m sure that I can do without him.”
“Very well indeed, I should think.”
“The truth is, Mary—”
“There has been quite enough said about it, Mr. Twentyman.”
“The truth is, Mary, I came on purpose to have a word with you.” Hearing this, Kate rushed on and pulled Larry by the tail of his coat.
“How did you know I was to be there?” demanded Mary sharply.
“I didn’t know. I had reason to think you perhaps might be there. The girls I knew had been asking you to come as far as the bridge. At any rate I took my chance. I’d seen him some time before, and then I saw you.”
“If I’m to be watched about in that way,” said Mary angrily, “I won’t go out at all.”
“Of course I want to see you. Why shouldn’t I? I’m all fair and above board;—ain’t I? Your father and mother know all about it. It isn’t as though I were doing anything clandestine.” He paused for a reply, but Mary walked on in silence. She knew quite well that he was warranted in seeking her, and that nothing but a very positive decision on her part could put an end to his courtship. At the present moment she was inclined to be very positive, but he had hardly as yet given her an opportunity of speaking out. “I think you know, Mary, what it is that I want.” They were now at a rough stile which enabled him to come close up to her and help her. She tripped over the stile with a light step and again walked on rapidly. The field they were in enabled him to get up to her side, and now if ever was his opportunity. It was a long straggling meadow which he knew well, with the Dill running by it all the way—or rather two meadows with an open space where there had once been a gate. He had ridden through the gap a score of times, and knew that at the further side of the second meadow they would come upon the high road. The fields were certainly much better for his purpose than the road. “Don’t you think, Mary, you could say a kind word to me?”
“I never said anything unkind.”
“You can’t think ill of me for loving you better than all the world.”
“I don’t think ill of you at all. I think very well of you.”
“That’s kind.”
“So I do. How can I help thinking well of you, when I’ve never heard anything but good of you?”
“Then why shouldn’t you say at once that you’ll have me, and make me the happiest man in all the county?”
“Because—”
“Well!”
“I told you before, Mr. Twentyman, and that ought to have been enough. A young woman doesn’t fall in love with every man that she thinks well of. I should like you as well as all the rest of the family if you would only marry some other girl.”
“I shall never do that.”
“Yes you will;—some day.”
“Never. I’ve set my heart upon it, and I mean to stick to it. I’m not the fellow to turn about from one girl to another. What I want is the girl I love. I’ve money enough and all that kind of thing of my own.”
“I’m sure you’re disinterested, Mr. Twentyman.”
“Yes, I am. Ever since you’ve been home from Bragton it has been the same thing, and when I felt that it was so, I spoke up to your father honestly. I haven’t been beating about the bush, and I haven’t done anything that wasn’t honourable.” They were very near the last stile now. “Come, Mary, if you won’t make me a promise, say that you’ll think of it.”
“I have thought of it, Mr. Twentyman, and I can’t make you any other answer. I dare say I’m very foolish.”
“I wish you were more foolish. Perhaps then you wouldn’t be so hard to please.”
“Whether I’m wise or foolish, indeed, indeed, it’s no good your going on. Now we’re on the road. Pray go back home, Mr. Twentyman.”
“It’ll be getting dark in a little time.”
“Not before we’re in Dillsborough. If it were ever so dark we could find our way home by ourselves. Come along, Dolly.”
Over the last stile he had stayed a moment to help the younger girl, and as he did so Kate whispered a word in his ear. “She’s angry because she couldn’t go up to the house with that stuck-up fellow.” It was a foolish word; but then Kate Masters had not had much experience in the world.
Whether overcome by Mary’s resolute mode of speaking, or aware that the high road would not suit his purpose, he
