A smile answered his candour.
"It would be all the same. And why should it matter to you? You have a
great many friends, no doubt--and we should not be likely to meet."
"Oh, yes, we should!" he said, with the dogged kind of insistence which
also sometimes surprised his friends. "I was going to avail myself of
your permission, and fish the stream--but, of course, I can't do that
now."
"No--I suppose not," she assented. "But we should be sure to meet on
the road--I should be riding--walking."
"But not on this side often," she argued.
A faint, very faint colour had stolen into the clear pallor of her
cheek, her eyes were downcast. She was honestly surprised, and, yes, a
little pleased that he should protest against the close of their
acquaintance; pleased, though why, she could not have told; for it did
not seem to matter.
"Oh, yes, I should," he retorted. "It's very pretty this side, and--See
here, Miss Heron." He drew a little nearer and looked up at her with
something like a frown in his eagerness. "Of course I shall speak to my
father about--well, about the way the land was bought, and I'm hoping,
I'm sure, that he will be able to explain it satisfactorily; and I want
to tell you that it is a mistake. I don't know much of my father, but I
can't believe that he would do anything underhand." He stopped suddenly
as the bagman's remarks flashed across his memory. "If your father's
grievance against him is just, why--ah, well, you'll have to cut me
when we meet; but I don't think it is; and I don't think it would be
fair to treat me as if _I_'d done something wrong."
Her brows came together, and she looked at him as if she were puzzled.
"I don't know why it matters," she said.
"Well, I can't tell you," he said, helplessly. "I only know that I
don't want to part from you this morning, knowing that the next time we
meet we should meet as strangers. I wanted to come to the Hall, to
enquire after Mr. Heron."
Her face flushed.
"Do not," she said in a low voice.
"I won't, of course," he responded, quickly. "It would only make
matters worse; your father would naturally dislike me, refuse to see
me; but--well, it's very hard on me."
She looked at him again, gravely, thoughtfully, as if she were still
puzzled by his persistence. Her eyes wandered to the dogs. Bess was
still standing up against him, and Donald had thrown himself down
beside him, and was regarding Ida with an air that said, quite plainly,
"This new friend of yours is all right."