But she only lifted her eyebrows a little.
"I thought one had to have a particular kind of brains for business--and begin early, too?"
"I could learn," he said gruffly, after which they were both silent till the harnessing was done.
"I'd like to drive you to the bridge--if you're agreeable?"
"Oh, don't trouble yourself, pray!" she said in polite haste.
"I know how 'tis--you won't come here again."
"I'd like to," she said, her voice wavering, "because papa used to stay here."
"I do remember Cousin Stephen," he said at last, "though I towd you I didn't. I can see him standing at the door there--wi' a big hat--an a beard--like straw--an a check coat wi' great bulgin pockets."
He stopped in amazement, seeing the sudden beauty of her eyes and cheeks.
"That's it," she said, leaning towards him. "Oh, that's it!" She closed her eyes a moment, her small lips trembling. Then she opened them with a long breath.
"Yes, you may drive me to the bridge if you like."
And on the drive she was another being. She talked to him about music, so softly and kindly that the young man's head swam with pleasure. All her own musical enthusiasms and experiences--the music in the college chapels, the music at the Greek plays, the few London concerts and operas she had heard, her teachers and her hero-worships--she drew upon it all in her round light voice, he joining in from time to time with a rough passion and yearning that seemed to transfigure him. In half an hour, as it were, they were friends; their relations changed wholly. He looked at her with all his eyes; hung upon her with all his ears. And she--she forgot that he was vulgar and a clown; such breathless pleasure, such a humble absorption in superior wisdom, would have blunted the sternest standard.
As for him, the minutes flew. When at last the bridge over the Bannisdale River came in sight, he began to check the pony.
"Let's drive on a bit," he said entreatingly.
"No, no--I must get back to Mrs. Fountain." And she took the reins from his hands.
"Oh, I don't know." She had put on once more the stand-off town-bred manner that puzzled his countryman's sense.
"I say, mother shan't talk that stuff to you next time. I'll tell her--" he said imploringly.--"Halloa! let me out, will you?"