May read and re-read this letter, and could not quite follow its drift. She naturally thought that the strong and powerful reasons to keep them apart were social ones. His uncle, of course, would naturally object to his heir marrying the daughter of one of his tenants.
“But he loves me,” May whispered softly to herself; “and I love him, and will sacrifice anything for his sake—mine is the love that can not change.”
But her sweet dream was speedily interrupted. Her stepmother’s loud voice was heard calling to her on the stairs:
“May! dinner is ready; come down at once.”
May had still her hat and cape on, and it took her a few minutes to divest herself of these, but when she went into the dining-room she found her stepmother had not waited for her. Mrs. Churchill was sitting carving a large boiled leg of mutton and turnips, and she looked at May with her bright dark eyes disapprovingly as she entered the room.
“You are late for dinner, May,” she said, sharply. May made no answer. She sat down at the table, but the two thick slices of boiled mutton that her stepmother handed her was impossible food for her. In fact she could not eat it, and played with a little potato.
“Why are you not eating your mutton?” asked Mrs. Churchill.
“I do not like boiled mutton,” replied May, smiling.
“Not like excellent boiled mutton! Then what do you like? I did not know you were such a dainty eater as that.”
“May never eats very much,” said her father, kindly enough; “you like birds best, don’t you, May?”