He looked at her doubtfully, not knowing what to make of her anger. Then he submitted with a quietness that surprised her. Yet he deemed his cause not hopeless, only unripe.
"I am sorry I angered you, Barbara," he answered quietly. "We will talk no more on the matter. Yet, perchance I seemed somewhat sudden. But I have always longed for you, Barbara, and when you came to me suddenly, in the wood, 'twas as tho' Paradise had opened to me again."
Barbara answered nothing. She had seated herself again by the stream and was now plucking the grass and dropping it bit by bit into the rippling water, pondering the while why love may not beget love, and blaming herself for her ungracious acceptance of a constancy of homage a woman should be proud to win.
Presently Ralph sat down again by her side, and eyeing her for a minute doubtfully, he began with some hesitation:
"Barbara!"
"Well?"
"Who is this fellow?"
"What fellow, pray?"
"Why, this Protheroe. Where did you meet with him, eh!"
"I—I knew him first at Durford. He was quartered there with some troops, and rendered us some courtesy."