"And do you never go away from here, go to London for a change and get

a dance, and--and all that?" he asked.

She shook her head indifferently.

"No, I never leave the dale. I cannot. My father could not spare me.

Has it left off raining yet?"

She went to the front of the shed and looked out.

"No, it is still pelting; please come back; it is pouring off the roof;

your hair is quite wet again."

She laughed, but she obeyed.

"I suppose that gentleman, the man in the carriage, was a friend of Sir

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Stephen's, as he asked the way to your house?"

"I don't know," replied Stafford. "I don't know any of my father's

friends. I knew very little of him until last night."

She looked at him with frank, girlish interest.

"Did you find the new house very beautiful?" she asked.

Stafford nodded.

"Yes," he said, absently. "It is a kind of--of palace. It's beautiful

enough--perhaps a little too--too rich," he admitted.

She smiled.

"But then, you are rich. And is it true that a number of visitors are

coming down? I heard it from Jessie."

"Who is Jessie?" he asked, for he was more interested in the smallest

detail of this strange, bewilderingly lovely girl's life than his

father's affairs.

"Jessie is my maid. I call her mine, because she is very much attached

to me; but she is really our house-maid, parlour-maid. We have very few

servants: I suppose you have a great many up at the new house?"

He nodded.

"Oh, yes," he said, half apologetically. "Too many by far. I wish you

could, see it," he added.

She laughed softly.

"Thank you; but that is not likely. I think it is not raining so hard

now, and that I can go."

"It is simply pouring still," he said, earnestly and emphatically. "You

would get drenched if you ventured out."

"But I can't stay here all day," she remarked, with a laugh. "I have a

great deal to do: I have to see that the sheep have not strayed, and

that the cows are in the meadows; the fences are bad in places, and the

stupid creatures are always straying. It is wonderful how quickly a cow

finds a weak place in a fence."

Stafford's face grew red, a brick-dust red.

"It's not fit work for you," he said. "You--you are only a girl; you

can't be strong enough to face such weather, to do such work."




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