It was evident that he hoped her curiosity might have inquired the name of him thus alluded to; but she never did so, but heard the fact with a calm indifference.
Scanlan was uneasy; his heaviest artillery had opened no breach. What should be his next manouvre?
“The money-market is tight just now,” said he, speaking only to gain time for further observation; “and there's worse times even before us.”
If Mary heard, she did not notice this gloomy speculation.
“I 'm sure it will be no easy job to get the last November rent paid up. It was a bad crop; and now there 's sickness coming amongst them,” said he, half as though to himself. “You'll have to excuse me to-day, Mr. Scanlan,” said she, at last. “I find I can think of nothing; I am in one of my idle moods.”
“To be sure, why not, Miss Mary?” said he, evidently piqued at the ill-success of all his zeal. “It was I made a mistake. I fancied, somehow, you were anxious about this little matter; but another day will do as well,—whenever it's your own convenience.”
“You are always considerate, always good-natured, Mr. Scanlan,” said she, with a vagueness that showed she was scarcely conscious of what she uttered.
“If you think so, Miss Mary, I 'm well repaid,” said he, with a dash of gallantry in the tone; “nor is it by a trifle like this I'd like to show my—my—my—devotion.” And the last word came out with an effort that made his face crimson.
“Yes,” muttered she, not hearing one word of his speech.
“So that I'll come over to-morrow, Miss Mary,” broke he in.