“Oh, just a few things,” he admitted grudgingly. “I suppose you’ve noticed that I’m not exactly the glass of fashion and the mold of form.”
He was instantly ashamed of himself for the crude personality.
“You must think I’m a fool!” burst from him, under the sting of his self-inflicted lash.
She smiled and shook her head.
“I’m not at all the sort of person you appear to think me,” she said. Her grave blue eyes looked straight into his. “But don’t let’s waste time trying to be clever: I want to ask you if you are willing, for a fair salary, to take charge of the outdoor improvements at Bolton House.”
She colored swiftly at sight of the quizzical lift of his brows.
“I’ve decided to call my place ‘Bolton House’ for several reasons,” she went on rapidly: “for one thing, everybody has always called it the Bolton place, so it will be easier for the workmen and everybody to know what place is meant. Besides, I—”
“Yes; but the name of Bolton has an ill-omened sound in Brookville ears,” he objected. “You’ve no idea how people here hate that man.”
“It all happened so long ago, I should think they might forgive him by now,” she offered, after a pause.
“I wouldn’t call my house after a thief,” he said strongly. “There are hundreds of prettier names. Why not—Pine Court, for example?”