“But what?” she said, facing him suddenly with absolutely astonished eyes.
Hoffman looked into them so long that their frank wonder presently contracted into an ominous mingling of restraint and resentment. Nothing daunted, however, he went on:
“Couldn't we shake all that?”
The look of wonder returned. “Shake all that?” she repeated. “I do not understand.”
“Well! I'm not positively aching to see cows, and you must be sick of showing them. I think, too, I've about sized the whole show. Wouldn't it be better if we sat down in that arbor—supposing it won't fall down—and you told me all about the lot? It would save you a heap of trouble and keep your pretty frock cleaner than trapesing round. Of course,” he said, with a quick transition to the gentlest courtesy, “if you're conscientious about this thing we'll go on and not spare a cow. Consider me in it with you for the whole morning.”
She looked at him again, and then suddenly broke into a charming laugh. It revealed a set of strong white teeth, as well as a certain barbaric trace in its cadence which civilized restraint had not entirely overlaid.
“I suppose she really is a peasant, in spite of that pretty frock,” he said to himself as he laughed too.
But her face presently took a shade of reserve, and with a gentle but singular significance she said:
“I think you must see the dairy.”
Hoffman's hat was in his hand with a vivacity that tumbled the brown curls on his forehead. “By all means,” he said instantly, and began walking by her side in modest but easy silence. Now that he thought her a conscientious peasant he was quiet and respectful.