‘Gentleman! He’s no gentleman. He’s nothing but a common gamekeeper, same as uncle. But don’t let us talk of him any more. It takes the flavour of the bacon clean out of my mouth.’
The rest of the simple meal was performed in silence, and then Mrs Barnes gathered up the crockery and carried it into an outer room to wash.
Larry and Lizzie were left alone. The girl seemed to understand that in some mysterious way she had offended her cousin, and wished to restore peace between them, so she crept up to where he was smoking his midday pipe on the old settle by the fire, and laid her head gently against his knees. They had been brought up from babes together, and were used to observe such innocent little familiarities towards each other.
‘Never mind about the outing, Larry. I’m not a bit disappointed, and I’m sorry I said anything about it.’
‘That’s not true, Liz. You are disappointed, and it’s my doing; but I couldn’t help it. I didn’t feel somehow as if I had the heart to go. But I’ve changed my mind since dinner, and we’ll go up to the harvest-home together, my girl. Will that content you?’
‘Oh, Larry! you are good!’ she said, raising herself, her cheeks crimsoned with renewed expectation; ‘but I’d rather stop at home a thousand times over than you should put yourself out of the way for me.’
A sudden thought seemed to strike the young man as he looked at Lizzie’s fair, sightless face. He had lived with her so long, in a sisterly way, that it had never struck him to regard her in any other light. But something in the inflection of her voice as she addressed him, made him wonder if he were capable of making her happier than she had ever been yet. He cherished no other hopes capable of realisation. What if he could make his own troubles lighter by lightening those of poor Liz? Something of this sort, but in much rougher clothing, passed through his half-tutored mind. As it grasped the idea he turned hurriedly towards the girl kneeling at his knee.
‘Do you really care about me, lass?’ he said. ‘Do you care if I’m vexed or not? Whether I come in or go out? If I like my dinner or I don’t like it? Does all this nonsense worry you? Answer me, for I want to know.’
‘Oh! Larry, what do you mean? Of course I care. I can’t do much for you—more’s the pity—without my poor eyes, but I can think of you and love you, Larry, and surely you know that I do both.’