“And what have you been doing to be punished? What brought you here?” said Evan.
“Somebody drove me to Fallowfield to see my poor sister Susan,” returned Polly, half crying.
“Well, did he bring you here and leave you?
“No: he wasn’t true to his appointment the moment I wanted to go back; and I, to pay him out, I determined I’d walk it where he shouldn’t overtake me, and on came the storm... And my gown spoilt, and such a bonnet!”
“Who was the somebody?”
“He’s a Mr. Nicholas Frim, sir.”
“Mr. Nicholas Frim will be very unhappy, I should think.”
“Yes, that’s one comfort,” said Polly ruefully, drying her eyes.
Closely surrounding a young man as a young woman must be when both are on the same horse, they, as a rule, talk confidentially together in a very short time. His “Are you cold?” when Polly shivered, and her “Oh, no; not very,” and a slight screwing of her body up to him, as she spoke, to assure him and herself of it, soon made them intimate.
“I think Mr. Nicholas Frim mustn’t see us riding into Beckley,” said Evan.