Benedicta had fixed ideas about courtships. It cannot be denied that, although she had seen this young man only twice, and had no proper foundation for such a notion, she believed that this was the beginning of a courtship. The most singular delight and confusion filled her heart. She didn’t wish to speak, or wish him to speak. Later, after they had known each other for weeks and weeks, would come the moment when he would tell her those wonderful things of which she had read; but now all she wanted in the world was to walk by his side on the long, dim road, soft with dust, with the crickets chirping in the parched grass, and the breeze, sweet with the breath of the fields and the hills, blowing against her face.
Young Dumall, apparently, had no such ideas about courtships.[Pg 135]
“You know,” he said, “I’m poor enough—”
“Oh!” Benedicta interrupted. “What does that matter? It’s something to be proud of—in these days, when people like the Wilkinsons have so much money.”
He turned toward her, but it was too dark to read her face.
“I don’t see anything wrong with the Wilkinsons,” he said. “They’re the best friends I’ve ever had.”
Benedicta was a little nettled at this.
“Of course they’re very nice, and all that,” she answered; “but they’re not at all our sort.”
“That’s our misfortune,” declared Francis. “Mr. Wilkinson made money because he worked hard and used his wits. Our sort of people wouldn’t work, and thought it a fine thing not to have any common sense. I’m not proud of being poor—and I’m not going to stay poor!”
“There are better things in life than hard work and common sense,” observed Benedicta stiffly.