"No, no; I've had my luck--mustn't be greedy. One thing I will swear: David Bowden won't make you laugh as often at your tea as I did at your dinner--will he now?"
"We've all got our different qualities."
"I tell you he's a kill-joy," repeated Bartley; but Margaret shook her head.
"Not to me--never to me," she said frankly.
This fearless confession reduced the man to silence. Then, while he considered the position and felt that, if he desired Margaret, the time for serious love-making had come, there approached the sturdy shape of young Bowden himself.
They were now more than half-way up the valley, and David had seen them long ago. He advanced to meet them, took no notice of Bartley, but shook Margaret's hand and spoke while he did so.
"It was ordained that I should drink a dish of tea along with your people this afternoon; but if you've forgot it, I can go again."
"No fay! Of course 'twasn't forgotten. Why ever should you think so, Mr. David?"
"Because Bartley here--however, I'm sorry I spoke, since 'tis as 'tis."
"Not often you say more than be needed in words," remarked Mr. Crocker. But he spoke mechanically. His observation was entirely bestowed upon Margaret's attitude towards Bowden. That she liked him was sufficiently clear. Her face was the brighter for his coming and she began to talk to him of certain interests not familiar to Bartley. Then she remembered herself and turned to the younger man again.