The miller looked at Letty sharply; then he smiled.
“Bob Frewin ’ain’t been seen walking with a young ’ooman since Bett throwed him over,” said he.
“Well that ain’t no reason,” smiled Letty with a little pout, and a killing glance from under the black fringes of her soft grey eyes.
The miller answered it as it became him to do, and the girl who had spoken before giggled: “Lor, ain’t she just a bit set up?” said she.
But the miller did not seem to mind.
“Ye promised to walk with me next Sunday though,” said he persuasively.
“There’s no tellin’ what I might be wantin’ to do next Sunday,” said she. “It might be rainin’ for aught we know.”
“It might,” allowed he. “But again it mightn’t, and if it don’t—well, ye promised.”
“Did I then?” repeated Letty innocently. “Well, there’s other Sundays, and I bet Mr. Frewin shall walk with me one on ’em.”
“Done with you for a pair o’ gloves,” cried the miller, laughing, “for I bet he won’t!” And Letty flushed and demurred, for such a precise arrangement as this had not occurred to her; but the girls were delighted and wouldn’t let her refuse.