Maggie's eyes dropped again.
“Hoo should I know?” she asked innocently.
“Nor care, neither, I s'pose,” he said in reproachful accents. “Yo' want me me to go and leave yo', and go reet awa'; I see hoo 'tis. Yo' wouldna mind, not yo', if yo' was niver to see pore David agin. I niver thowt yo' welly like me, Maggie; and noo I know it.”
“Yo' silly lad,” the girl murmured, knitting steadfastly.
“Then yo' do,” he cried, triumphant, “I knew yo' did.” He approached close to her chair, his face clouded with eager anxiety.
“But d'yo' like me more'n just likin'', Maggie? d'yo',” he bent and whispered in the little ear.
The girl cuddled over her work so that he could not see her face.
“If yo' won't tell me yo' can show me,” he coaxed. “There's other things besides words.”
He stood before her, one hand on the chair-back on either side. She sat thus, caged between his arms, with drooping eyes and heightened color.
“Not so close, David, please,” she begged, fidgeting uneasily; but the request was unheeded.