"I don't see why he should be done out of his share," protested Thorne cautiously. He felt that Lucy was more gracious than there was any occasion for.
"Don't you, Mavy?" she asked, with lifted brows. "Now, I've a notion that anybody else would kind of spoil things."
Until lately Thorne had seldom shrunk from any harmless gallantry, but he did not respond just then with the readiness which the girl seemed to expect.
"It's a relief to hear you say it," he declared. "I'm afraid I'm a dull companion to-night."
Lucy nodded sympathetically.
"Well," she replied, "I have seen you brighter, but you're anxious and played out. Sit nice and still for half an hour while I talk to you."
"I ought to be stooking those sheaves," Thorne answered dubiously.
"You can do it by and by," Lucy urged. "It won't be dark for quite a while yet."
She adroitly led him on to talk, and presently bade him light his pipe. He had always hated any unnecessary reserve and ceremony, and by degrees his natural gaiety once more asserted itself. At length, when they were both laughing over a narrative of his, he stretched his arm out across the table and it happened by merest accident that their hands met. Lucy did not draw hers away; she looked up at him with a smile.
"Mavy," she teased, "I wonder what Miss Leigh would say if she could see you."