‘A likely thing it is I’ll have his gifts!’ cried the girl. She flushed angrily, and with a quick movement of her arm flung the chain out at the window; it fell on the opposite roof, and the smooth beads slid down the slates and lodged in some unseen crevice.
‘There they may rot for me!’ she cried.
‘Ah, come,’ began Meadowes; ‘he meant kindly by the gift.’
‘I’ll have none o’ his kindness then,’ said Anne. She did not seem disposed for further conversation. But Meadowes persisted:—
‘You seem scarce so busy to-day.’
‘No more I am, sir; I be tired of work.’
‘Have you ever lived in the country?’ queried Meadowes, who had since the day before evolved his plans a little. ‘Work is none so hard there, and living pleasant; quiet is good for a sad heart.’
‘You’ll have tried it, sir?’ said Anne sarcastically. ‘For sad hearts be mighty common.’
‘Ah! I have had my sad days too.’
‘I’d scarce have thought it, sir,’ said Anne, taking a survey of her visitor. ‘But there,’ she added, as if on second thoughts, ‘you have mayhap felt things like the rest of us.’