There was a little pause, then he added:
“He became engaged to my daughter just before he was killed.”
“Ah!” The little exclamation held a world of pain and pity.
He felt glad she did not add the usual “poor thing,” and possibly that was why he volunteered further. “She has married since, but I doubt if she has got over it.”
It was some time before either spoke again. Then Ruth said, almost shyly, “There is just one thing more. The buttercup field? I can’t quite understand it. It is bad farming, that field. The only bit of bad farming on the place.”
“You did not guess?”
“No.” Ruth looked at him, her head a little on one side, her brow drawn, puzzled.
“He kept it for its beauty,” said North. “It is a wonderful bit of colour you know, that sheeted gold,” he added almost apologetically, when for a moment Ruth did not answer.
But she was mentally kicking herself.
“Of course!” she exclaimed. “How utterly stupid of me. I ought to have understood. How utterly and completely stupid of me. I have never thought of what he would wish from that point of view. I have been simply trying to farm well. And I love that field for its beauty too. Look at it in the western sunlight against the may hedge.”