“Niece. I know, my dear. Very, very glad to make your acquaintance. You see I know something about the place, though I have not been there yet.”
As he spoke he took the timidly extended hand and gave it a warm, frank pressure, which again heightened the blush; but in a few moments Eve Pelly felt more at her ease in the presence of this stranger, who, with all his freedom, had an atmosphere of gentlemanly truth and candour which won upon all with whom he came in contact.
“Now,” he said, “you must introduce me to my other little friend here. Who is this?”
“This is Daisy Banks, Mr Selwood. Mr Banks is my aunt’s foreman at the Foundry. Daisy comes with me sometimes when I go for a walk. We have known each other from children.”
“To be sure,” said the vicar, smiling. “I might have known your name was Daisy. Shake hands, my dear. You’ll never change that name, but some day you’ll be coming to me to change the other for you.”
“Which I’m sure I never shall,” cried Daisy, with an indignant stamp, and a hot angry glance at the young workman, who ground his teeth, and savagely kicked the top off a tuft of heather.
“Don’t be angry, my dear,” said the vicar, kindly, as, red-faced, choking, and hardly able to restrain her angry tears, the girl snatched away her hand and turned away.
“It’s one of my weaknesses to touch tender chords unwittingly,” he said in a low tone to Eve; and, how it was she knew not, the girl felt herself drawn into a feeling of confidence with this stranger, who, however, half affronted her susceptibilities the next moment by saying,
“But come, you must not stand here with wet feet. If you were a sister of mine I should make you take off those dripping boots.”
“They are not wet—not very wet,” she stammered, correcting herself.