Owen was in a passion, and vainly striving to keep it down. His face was flushed, he looked angrily and moodily upon the drooping head of Gladys as it bent lower and lower over the poor cow upon which she was leaning. He suddenly seized her hand, and exclaimed,—
'I am not used to be refused in this cool sort of way, and I don't believe there ever was a woman in the world who doesn't wish to get married to some one or other. Now whether you mean to have me or not is not the question I am going to ask; but whether you have any other lover, or ever had one that you prefer to me?—Tell me this, and I shall be satisfied.'
Gladys tried to draw away her hand from the impetuous young man, but he held it fast.
'You needn't be afraid; I would not hurt a hair of your head. And if you knew what I am feeling now at this moment you will tell me the truth. Will you answer me a few questions?'
'Yes, Mr Owen, if I can without doing or saying what is wrong.'
Owen looked Gladys again in the face, as she slightly raised her head to answer his question. Why that burning blush? Why those bright, expressive eyes, if she did not care for him? For a moment he had hope, and pressed the hand he held. Again she bent over the cow that divided them, and tried to withdraw her hand.
At any other time Owen would have laughed at the notion of making an offer, divided from his beloved by a fine Alderney cow, but now he was too much in earnest for laughing.
'Gladys, do you love my brother Rowland?' he asked.
Gladys now looked at him in unfeigned astonishment as she answered,—
'No, Mr Owen; surely I have never given you reason to suppose so. A grand gentleman like him!'