‘I wonder,’ she said tartly, for her irritation at this discovery recoiled on its unsuspicious cause—‘I wonder, Mr. Marshall, you should care to come back to Dorset since you have such a poor opinion of it. Why did n’t you settle out there?’
‘Out where?’ he inquired with a smile. ‘I have tried to settle in a good many places. I was in a newspaper office in New York—it was while I was there that I did most in the way of educating myself—and then I went to San Francisco, and then to Texas. I’ve been pretty well over the States, in fact, and I’ve been to Mexico and Brazil and Canada. I might have done well in several places if I could have made up my mind to stick to the job in hand—but I could n’t. Something was drawing me all the time—drawing me back to England—drawing me home, so that at last I felt I must come back.’
‘And what will you do now?’ she inquired with curiosity.
‘Oh,’ he cried, drawing a deep breath, ‘I must work on a farm. The love for farm-work is in my blood, I believe. I want the smell of the fresh-turned earth; I want my arms to be tired heaving the sheaves into the waggons; I want to lead out the horses early in the morning into the dewy fields—I want, oh, many things!’
Rosalie considered him wonderingly: these things were done around her every day as a matter of course, but how curiously the man spoke of them, how unaccountable was that longing of which he spoke! She had never seen anyone the least like him, and, now that the conversation had drifted away from herself, she felt a real pleasure and interest in listening to his talk. As they drove onward through the gathering twilight she, too, was moved to talk, and was charmed by his quick understanding and ready response. Her own wits were quick enough, but she had fallen into the habit of keeping her opinions on abstract subjects to herself: the concrete was all that the people with whom she associated were capable of discussing; and, indeed, they had not much to say on any matter at any time. This young bright personality was something so absolutely new to her, his point of view so original and vigorous, and his sympathy so magnetic, that Rosalie enjoyed her adventure as she had never enjoyed anything in her life before. Her eyes shone, her cheeks flushed, her merry laugh rang out; she felt that she, too, was young and light-hearted, and that life and youth and gay companionship made a very delightful combination.
As they drew near their destination a sudden silence fell between them, and presently Richard broke it, speaking in a soft and altered tone.
‘How familiar the country grows! Even in the dark I recognise a friend at every turn. Is not that your house yonder where the lights are glimmering?’
‘Yes,’ said Rosalie, with a little unconscious sigh.
‘The cornfield where I saw you lies just to the right of it.’
‘I wish you would not talk in riddles,’ said Rosalie, breathing rather quickly. Through the dusk he could see the wrathful fire in her eyes.