‘What more?’ demanded Larry, with lowered brows.
‘Miss Rosa knew him well, because they never named each other, but only wished “good morning.” She said, “What are you doing here?” and he said, “Looking after you.” He carried a rose in his hand or his coat, I think, for I smelt it, and a cane, too, for it struck the saddle flap.’
‘Well, that’s enough,’ interrupted Laurence, fiercely.
‘I thought you wanted to hear all about it, Larry?’
‘Is there any more to tell, then?’
‘Only that as they walked away together, Miss Rosa said she was so glad he was coming up to the harvest-home to-night.’
‘So he’s a-going, the cur!’ muttered the young man between his teeth. ‘I know him, with his cane, and his swagger, and his stinking roses; and I’ll be even with him yet, or my name’s not Larry Barnes.’
It was evident that Mr Frederick Darley was no greater favourite in the cottage than the farm.
‘Whoever are you talking of?’ said Larry’s mother. ‘Do you know the gentleman Lizzie met with Miss Rosa?’