She returned the contract to its envelope, and both to her pocket. Then she looked at him uncertainly.
'May I ask what that meant?'
Her voice was still strained, and her eyes by no means meek.
'I am sorry,' said the Squire hurriedly. 'I don't know—it was a whim. I wanted to have the pleasure—'
'Of seeing how a person looks under a sudden disappointment?' said Elizabeth, with rather pinched lips.
'Not at all. It was a childish thing—I wanted to see you smile when I gave you the thing back. There—that's the truth. It was you disappointed me!'
Elizabeth's wrath vanished. She hid her face in her hands and laughed. But there was agitation behind the laughter. These were not the normal ways of a reasonable man.
When she looked up, the Squire had moved to a log close beside her. The March sun was pouring down upon them, and there was a robin singing, quite undisturbed by their presence, in a holly-bush near. The Squire's wilful countenance had never seemed to Elizabeth more full of an uncanny and even threatening energy. Involuntarily she withdrew her seat.
'I wish to be allowed to make a very serious proposition to you,' he said eagerly, 'one that I have been considering for weeks.'
Elizabeth—rather weakly—put up a protesting hand.