"Yes, they're different," he admitted. "Most of the women I know would be frightened to death if they were caught in such a rain as this; would be more than frightened to death if they had to ride down that hill most of 'em think they've done wonder if they get in at the end of a run over a fairly easy country; and none of 'em could doctor a sick sheep to save their lives."
"Yes," she said, dreamily. "I've seen them, but only at a distance. But
I didn't know anything about farming until I came home."
"And do you never go away from here, go to London for a change and get a dance, and—and all that?" he asked.
She shook her head indifferently.
"No, I never leave the dale. I cannot. My father could not spare me.
Has it left off raining yet?"
She went to the front of the shed and looked out.
"No, it is still pelting; please come back; it is pouring off the roof; your hair is quite wet again."
She laughed, but she obeyed.
"I suppose that gentleman, the man in the carriage, was a friend of Sir
Stephen's, as he asked the way to your house?"
"I don't know," replied Stafford. "I don't know any of my father's friends. I knew very little of him until last night."