The vicar hesitated for a moment, but Geoffrey’s manner disarmed him, and besides, Rhoda was looking on.
The result was that he shook hands warmly, and said, with a smile, “Mr Trethick, we must have a few more arguments. I am not beaten yet. Good-morning.”
“Beaten? no,” said Geoffrey. “Good-morning. Miss Penwynn, I’m afraid I’ve shocked you,” he said, merrily, as soon as they were left alone; and as he spoke he could not help admiring the bright, animated face before him; for after the vicar’s smooth, flowing speeches that morning, Geoffrey’s brisk, sharp way had seemed to her like the racy breeze of the sea, fanning her spirit, and making her very pulses tingle.
“Shocked?” she said, eagerly; “I liked the discussion. I do love to hear a man speak as he really feels.”
“Do you?” said Geoffrey, showing his white teeth. “Well really, Miss Penwynn, if we ever meet much in the future you will invariably hear me speak as I feel. I always did it, and invariably got myself into trouble.”
“For being honest?” said Rhoda.
“Yes, for being honest. We’re a strange people, Miss Penwynn. Every one advocates the truth, and straightforwardness, but, as a rule, those two qualities find very little favour.”
“I’m afraid there is a great deal in what you say,” said Rhoda, thoughtfully.
“I’m sure there is,” exclaimed Geoffrey. “It’s a queer world altogether, but I like it all the same.”
“I hope we all do,” replied Rhoda, smiling.