“And yet I have heard it said that love flies out at the window when poverty comes in by the door,” she said.
“That never was love; 'twas something that came in the disguise of love.”
“I do believe that there are many such sham things prowling about, and knocking at such doors as they find well painted. Some of them have heard of silver being stored away in old jugs, and some have gone round to the byres to see exactly how many cows were there before knocking at the door.”
He smiled in response to her smiling. And then suddenly they both became grave.
“Have you had recent converse with that man Bennet?” he asked suddenly.
She swung the bird cage so quickly round that the doves were well-nigh jerked off their perch. She had flushed at the same moment, and a little frown was upon the face that she turned up to him.
“Why asked you that question? Is it because you were speaking of the sham loves, sir?” she asked.
“I ask your pardon if I seem somewhat of a busybody, Nelly Polwhele,” he said. “But the truth is that I—I find myself thinking of you at times—as a father—as an elder brother might think of—a sweet sister of tender years.”
Now she was blushing rosier than before, and there was no frown upon her forehead. But she did not lower her eyes or turn them away from his face. There was about her no sign of the bashful country girl who has been paid a compliment by one above her in rank. She did not lower her eyes; it was he who lowered his before her.
“'Tis the truth, dear child, that I tell you: I have been strangely interested in you since the first day I saw you, and I have oft wondered what your future would be. I have thought of you in my prayers.”