"Father would never think of asking Squire Broderick to lend him money," I said, quickly.
"No, I dare say not," answered the bailiff. "Your father is a very proud man, and however well he may know the squire is his friend, they have not always exactly hit it off. But you, Miss Margaret, you could ask him, and for your father's sake, you would."
"Oh no, indeed, I wouldn't," said I, almost roughly. "It's the last thing in the world that I would do." And then I turned quickly round. "Joyce hasn't come down," I added. "We had better go back and look for her."
I moved away a couple of steps, but he didn't follow, and I stopped.
"Don't go in just yet," he said. "Your mother does not need you. I want to talk to you a little. We used always to be such good friends; but we haven't had a talk for a long while."
I stood still where I was.
"If it's about borrowing money of the squire that you want to talk to me, I don't think it would be any use for you to trouble," said I, with my back still turned to him. "I shouldn't think of asking him to lend father money—not if I thought ever so that he would do it."
"Of course he would do it to please you," said Harrod, frankly. "He loves you. But I quite understand how that might be more than ever the reason for your not asking him."
I did not answer; the suddenness of the way in which this had come from him had taken away my breath. It had not even struck me that he could have guessed it; and now that he should speak of it—he to me!
"It would be a reason if you did not mean to accept his love," continued Harrod, ruthlessly. "But since that could not surely be the case, are you not over-delicate; do you not almost do him an injury by not trusting him to that extent?"