He turned to me and broke into a little laugh. I thought it almost rude of him, and wondered whether he, too, thought that a farmer's daughter was not worthy of marriage with a squire.
But he was looking at me—he was looking at me with a strange look in his eyes. Yes, there was no mistaking it—it was a look of admiration, a look of almost tender admiration, and as I felt it upon me a blush rose to my cheek that so rarely blushed, and the power of thinking went from me; I only felt his presence.
I don't know how long we stood thus; I suppose it was only seconds before he said, "I believe you would put that sister of yours before you in everything, Miss Margaret."
I made an effort to understand him, for I think I was in a dream.
"Yes, she's so beautiful!" I murmured.
"Beautiful!" echoed he.
There was something in the tone of his voice that made me lift my eyes to his face. His gaze was fixed on the gate of the farm-yard. I followed his gaze. Joyce had entered and was coming towards us. This was where we had arranged to meet.
She shook hands with Harrod and then with the squire, who joined us with mother. We all went together into the cow-shed.
I don't remember what remarks were made upon Betsey's proposed successor; I don't even remember if we bought her or not. I don't think I was in the mood to attend much to the matter. I was roused from a brown-study by a curious remark of Trayton Harrod's.
Mother had found occasion to ask him whether the woman whom she had provided for him at "The Elms" made him comfortable, and was pleasant-spoken. It had been on her mind, I know, ever since he had been there.