Olivia tried to laugh.
“Well, you must admit that one may be rather displeased at having one’s overtures of friendship declined, however politely,” she said.
He dug a stone out of the path with his stick; then he looked up at her.
“You have put the case candidly; but think, Miss Vanley—your father knows nothing of me. He has paid me the attention of a call, because I was so fortunate as to be of slight service to one of his servants. Am I to take advantage of such an accident? He knows nothing of me, remember.”
“My father is perfectly free to choose his friends,” she retorted. “He would have called on you, even if this accident of Bessie’s had not occurred.”
He struck the pebble he had dug out, and sighed.
“Do not tempt me,” he murmured, in so low a voice that Olivia did not hear him.
“What did you say?” she asked.
He fixed his dark eyes on hers.
“Miss Vanley,” he said, the lines of his forehead deepening, as if he were going through a mental struggle, “I came to this place resolved to isolate myself, separate myself, from the society of my fellowmen. My reasons are of no consequence in the argument. I came here to bury myself. Chance, accident, Providence, as some would call it, has thrown me into intercourse with my neighbors.”