“It’s a lie!” cried Gladys, completely forgetting herself and looking as if she could have struck the mocking villager.
“A lie, eh?” returned the other. “Tisn’t for me to tell the tale to a young lady, the likes of you. But we be all guessing down in Mr. North’s factory, who ’twas that gave Luke the pretty lady-like ring wot he lent to Annie!”
Gladys became livid with anger. “What ring?” she cried. “Why are you talking about a ring?”
“Annie, she stuck it, for devilry, into that hole in Splash-Lane stone. She pushed it in, tight as ’twere a sham diamint. And there it do bide, the lady’s pretty ring, all glittery and shiny, at bottom of that there hole! We maids do go to see ’un glinsying and gleaming. It be the talk of the place, that ring be! Scarce one of the childer but ’as ’ad its try to hook ’un out. But ’tis no good. I guess Annie must have rammed it down with her mother’s girt skewer. ’Tis fast in that stone anyway, for all the world to see. Folks, may-be, ’ll be coming from Yeoborough, long as a few days be over, to see the lady’s ring, wot Annie threw’d away, ’afore she said ‘yes’ to her young man!”
These final words were positively shouted by the enraged Phyllis, as she tripped away, swinging her bundle triumphantly.
It seemed for a moment as though Gladys meditated a desperate pursuit, and the infliction of physical violence upon her enemy. But Lacrima held her fast by the hand. “For heaven’s sake, cousin,” she whispered, “let her go. Look at those men watching us!”
Gladys turned; but it was not at the farm-men she looked.
Across the green towards them came the two Andersens, Luke looking nervous and worried, and his brother gesticulating strangely. The girls remained motionless, neither advancing to meet them nor making any attempt to evade them. Gladys seemed to lose her defiant air, and waited their approach, rather with the look of one expecting to be chidden than of one prepared to chide. On all recent occasions this had been her manner, when in the presence of the young stone-carver.
The sight of Lacrima seemed to exercise a magical effect upon James Andersen. He ceased at once his excited talk, and advancing towards her, greeted her in his normal tone—a tone of almost paternal gentleness.
“It is nearly a quarter to one,” said Gladys, addressing both the men. “Lacrima and I’ll have all we can do to get back in time for lunch. Let’s walk back together!”