"I am so sorry you waited for me," said she, lying unconsciously. Had not her heart beaten with delight because he had waited? "And you, too, who are so fond of dancing."
"Ah! fond! That is a strong expression. I am not a slave to it, you know."
"No." She paused. She seemed to study him for a moment. His face, young, strong, with a sort of defiance in it, as though he could and would conquer his world, fascinated her. It had always fascinated her from the first moment she saw it, now three months ago. It was not so much the kindliness of it as its strength that attracted her. She, too, could be strong. She felt in harmony with him from the very first. He was, as has been said, not strictly handsome, but his eyes were dark and expressive, and his mouth firm. The pose of his head was charming and his figure well-built and athletic. He was always in splendid spirits, and the milk of human kindness ran swiftly within his veins. Already the poor in his district began to adore him, for kind were his words and encouraging his smiles, and these counted with the sickly ones even more than the shillings that so often came out of a pocket where but few shilling lay. He had begun his fight with life unaided, save by the influence of old Reginald Greatorex, who had property in Rickton, and had got him appointed there, but he felt no fears. A natural buoyancy upheld him.
"Well," said he, smiling at her. He was wondering at the depth of her regard.
"I was thinking," said she, starting slightly, "that you could never be a slave to anything."
Dillwyn looked at her now.
"There you wrong me," said he. "I could be—I am—a slave!"
"It is difficult to believe," said she calmly.
"Why should it be difficult?"
"I don't know. But you don't lend yourself readily to the idea. You look as if you could never be easily swayed or governed."