"There are plenty among the gentry too that would make it no favor at all to receive a nice young woman just because she came of another class," added mother, with a vexed manner. "There's good honest folk all the world over, and bad ones too."
"Right you are, old woman," answered father, after a moment's hesitation, with generous repentance. "There's some among them that I'm proud to shake by the hand. But all the same, a prejudice is a prejudice, and a class is a class."
"You'd best come in-doors," said mother, still annoyed. "It's getting chill, and you've been out too long already, I believe."
He rose with the habit of obedience, and we all stood up, but he tottered as he walked. I saw Harrod, who was beside him, stretch out his arm.
He did not take it, he walked in bravely, the others following—all but myself and the squire. I saw he was troubled—I saw he wanted to speak to me, and I did not like to move.
"Your father is so emphatic, so very emphatic," he murmured; "but I hope, Miss Margaret, that you do not misunderstand me."
I looked at him a little surprised. I could not see how it could signify to him whether I misunderstood him or not. If it had been Joyce it would have been different.
"Oh no, I don't misunderstand you," said I, a little hurriedly, for I wanted to get in-doors. "It was quite clear."
I was vexed with the squire. I was angry with him for having seemed to make light of Harrod's knowledge and of Harrod's schemes.
I thought it was not fair of him before father—and when he had always bidden me fight the bailiff's battles for the good of the farm. So I answered, a little proudly, "You can't grumble if father and I have our pride of class as well as you yours."