He did not speak, but she could see that he was still feasting upon her with his eyes, and the worship in his looks was pleasant after Rolph’s cold rebuffs.
“Well,” she cried, “why are you looking at me like that?”
He started and smiled.
“I can’t help it,” he said, “You are so different to every other girl I know.”
“Except Judith Hayle,” she said contemptuously.
“You’re not like her a bit,” he said thoughtfully. “She’s very nice looking, and I used to think a deal of her.”
“Oh, yes, she’s lovely,” said Madge with a spiteful laugh.
“Yes,” said Caleb, thoughtfully, “so she is,” and he stood looking at the girl without comprehending the sarcasm in her words. “But she hasn’t got eyes like you have, and she isn’t so white, and,” he whispered, approaching her more closely, “if you’ll only be kind to me, and smile at me like you did, and speak soft to me, I’ll be like your dawg.”
He looked as if he would, and Marjorie saw it. She had been on the watch, expecting that he would seize her again, but nothing seemed further from his thoughts. It was exactly as he said—he was ready to be like her dog, and had she told him then, he would have cast himself at her feet, and let her plant her foot upon his neck in token of his subjugation.
“Well,” she said, “I think I will trust you.”