‘Oh, Hugh, I have wanted to speak to you for so long,’ said Nell, as they stood opposite each other. ‘What is the matter with you? Why do you never come to Panty-cuckoo now?’
He looked at her with grave surprise.
‘Why do I never go to Panty-cuckoo now?’ he repeated after her. ‘I should have thought you were the last person to ask me that question, Nell. Have you forgotten the words with which you sent me from you?’
‘Yes. What did I say? Anything very dreadful? How little you must know of women, to fancy they mean everything they say. You made me angry, I suppose, and then I resented it. But that is four months ago. It’s ridiculous to keep up a grudge all that time.’
‘I don’t think you were angry,’ replied Hugh, in his low, sweet voice. ‘I think you were in earnest, Nell, when you told me to leave Panty-cuckoo Farm, and never come back again; and that, after what had passed between us, my presence would be an extra pain to you. Was it likely, after that, that I could intrude my company on you? You must know that I didn’t keep away from choice.’
‘No, I didn’t. I thought, perhaps, you considered me altogether too bad to associate with—that I should contaminate you and make you unfit for the ministry, and so it was your duty not to come near me any more. That is what I thought.’
‘How very little you know me,’ said the young man with a sigh.
‘But mother and father are always asking after you,’ continued Nell, hurriedly, ‘and wondering why you never come near us; and it makes it rather awkward for me, you know, Hugh. I have told them all kinds of stories to excuse your absence; but it would be much better if you could come and see the old people now and then. I would keep out of the way, if you prefer it, whilst you are there.’
He did not contradict her, only saying,—
‘I should be sorry to vex Mr and Mrs Llewellyn, who have always been very good to me. I hope they thought it was my duties that kept me away. I should not like them to know that you and I have quarrelled.’