Hurst smiled at her pretty attempt at subterfuge; for he really had not spent much of his time in visiting Jessup, though the gardener had been a devoted friend during his boyhood, and truly believed that it was old remembrances that brought the young man so often to his cottage.
"I fancy your father will not have missed me very much," he said.
"But he does; indeed, indeed he does."
"And you cared nothing?"
Ruth dropped her eyelids, and he saw that tears were swelling under them. Selfishly watching her emotion until the long black lashes were wet, he lifted her hands suddenly to his lips and kissed them, with passionate warmth.
She struggled, and wrenched her hands away from him.
"You must not—you must not: father would be so angry."
"Not if he knew how much I love you."
She stood before him transfigured; her black eyes opened wide and bright, her frame trembled, her hands were clasped.
"You love me—you?"