'Well,' she turned to ask patiently, 'what is the matter with you?'
'I'm worried.'
'Has a cow died?' And ignoring his angry gesture, she went on: 'I
don't think you take enough care of your property. Whenever I ride
here I find you strolling about miserably, with a dog.'
'That's your fault.'
'I don't quite see why,' she said pleasantly; 'but no doubt you are
right. But has a cow died?'
'Of course not. Why should it?'
'They do, I suppose?'
'It's the old man. He isn't well, and he's badgering me to go away, to
Canada, and learn more about farming.'
'So you should.'
'Of course you'd say so.'
'Or do you think you can't?'
He missed, or ignored, her point. 'He's ill. I don't want to leave
him'; and in a louder voice he added, almost shouted, 'I don't want to
leave you!'
Her grey eyes were watching the swinging catkins, her hand, lifting
the primroses, hid a smile. Again he had the benefit of her profile,
the knot of her dark, thick hair and the shadowy line of her
eyelashes, but she made no comment on his remark and after a moment of
sombre staring he uttered the one word, 'Well?'
'Yes?'
'Well, I've told you.'
'Oh, I think you ought to go.'
'Then you don't love me?'
From under her raised eyebrows she looked at him steadily. 'No, I
don't love you,' she said slowly. There was no need to consider her
answer: she was sure of it. She was fond of him, but she could not
romantically love some one who looked and behaved like a spoilt boy.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25