"Have you begun your work of canvassing?" he said, with a laugh.
"Not yet," she replied. "Indeed, I doubt whether I shall take any part in this contest. I have been engaged in a far more feminine occupation!"
She laughed in assent. "But I've finished now," she said. "I am just returning to Howden Clough."
"May I walk back with you?" he asked, wondering at his own temerity. They went together some little distance without Paul speaking a word. He felt he had much to say to her, and yet, now that the opportunity had come, he was speechless. He noticed, too, that the people in the street were watching them, and doubtless many were commenting on the fact that he, who had no reason to be friendly with Mr. Bolitho, should be walking with his daughter. Once or twice he looked shyly towards her, and could not help thinking how utterly different she was from the girls of her own age who lived in Brunford. She seemed to have no connection with the town at all. Everything there was smoky and grimy and harsh. She seemed more like a country girl than a denizen of a town or city. Sometimes, when he had watched people in the market square selling violets, the incongruity had struck him. The violets brought in fresh from the country seemed utterly out of place in the grimy hands of these Northern people. As he looked at the young girl by his side he could not help thinking of the violets.
"I want to apologise to you," he said at length. "I was rude to you when I met you in the fields near Howden Clough, and I've been angry with myself ever since. It is very good of you to forgive me. I don't deserve it."
For the first time Mary Bolitho realised what she was doing. In a moment of thoughtlessness she had yielded to his suggestion that he should walk to Howden Clough with her, and she felt angry with herself. Had anyone told her that morning that she would have allowed him to walk by her side through the public street she would have laughed at the idea. It is true she had been interested in him ever since she had first seen him. There was something masterful in his presence. His political campaign had been marked by incidents which appealed to her imagination, and she felt she could never forget the look on his face when he had flung out his defiance to her father on the day of the election. She felt there was something morose and sullen, if not savage, in his nature, and even while she spoke pleasantly to him in her father's presence, the thought of being alone with him in such a way would have been deemed impossible. Directly he had suggested walking home with her, however, she felt she must fall in with his desire. There was something in him that interested her and almost mastered her.