Tregenna drew himself up. He took it for granted she did not intend him to use the Parsonage as a watch-tower, to descry the course the smugglers had taken.
“You are afraid, I suppose,” said he sharply, “that I might find out the direction in which lie the haunts of ‘free-trade?’”
Joan drew herself up in her turn. “Nay, sir,” said she quietly, “those haunts are reached by now, I doubt not; and your friends the soldiers will ere long be returning.”
“May be with a few of your friends, the free-traders, at their saddle-bow, madam,” retorted the lieutenant hotly.
“Sir, you are insulting,” said Joan.
“Nay, madam, there is no inference to be drawn from your speech and behavior in this matter but the one I draw.”
“I wish you a good evening, sir,” replied Joan, as, flashing upon him one look of indignant pride from her great brown eyes, she made him a most stately curtsey, with her arms folded across and her head erect, and sailed back into the house between the holly-bushes and the clipped yews.
There was nothing for Tregenna to do but to retire, after having returned her curtsey with a deep bow of corresponding stiffness. As he turned to descend the hill, he had to pass the woman who had been talking with Joan, and who had made way for him to converse with the young lady. He glanced at her in passing, but noted only that she was apparently of the small-farmer class, youngish rather than young, with a quiet, stolid country face, and sinewy, rustic hands and arms.
Her dress was that of her class, consisting of a thick dark stuff skirt drawn through the placket-holes, a coarse white apron, frilled white cap, a kerchief knotted on the breast, and long close mittens. She wore buckled shoes with stout heels, and carried a big basket on her arm.
There was altogether nothing more remarkable about her than an air of extreme cleanliness, neatness, and dignified respectability.