"Oh, this isn't as nice as the kitchen," she said decidedly. "What's that?" She pointed to a pewter cup standing stately and alone upon the largest possible wool mat in the centre of a table.
Mason threw back his head and chuckled. His great chest seemed to fill out; all his sulky constraint dropped away.
"Of course you don't know anythin aboot these parts," he said to her with condescension. "You don't know as I came near bein champion for the County lasst year—no, I'll reckon you don't. Oh! that cup's nowt—that's nobbut Whinthorpe sports, lasst December. Maybe there'll be a better there, by-and-by."
The young giant grinned, as he took up the cup and pointed with assumed indifference to its inscription.
"What—football?" said Laura, putting up her hand to hide a yawn. "Oh! I don't care about football. But I love cricket. Why—you've got a piano—and a new one!"
Mason's face cleared again—in quite another fashion.
"Do you know the maker?" he said eagerly. "I believe he's thowt a deal of by them as knows. I bought it myself out o' the sheep. The lambs had done fust-rate,—an I'd had more'n half the trooble of 'em, ony ways. So I took no heed o' mother. I went down straight to Whinthrupp, an paid the first instalment an browt it up in the cart mesel'. Mr. Castle—do yo knaw 'im?—he's the organist at the parish church—he came with me to choose it."
"And is it you that play it," said Laura wondering, "or your sister?"
He looked at her in silence for a moment—and she at him. His aspect seemed to change under her eyes. The handsome points of the face came out; its coarseness and loutishness receded. And his manner became suddenly quiet and manly—though full of an almost tremulous eagerness.
"You like it?" she asked him.