“Sir!” said Jeanie, with a little start; and then she looked him steadily in the face. “I’m no feared for you now. I see you’re no that man; but I cannot believe you when you speak. Eh, that’s dreadful to say to one like you!”
“Very dreadful,” said Arthur, laughing, and drawing closer to her. “So dreadful, Jeanie, that you must be very kind to me to make up for having said it. You don’t believe me—not when I tell you are the loveliest little creature I ever saw, and I am very fond of you? You must believe that. I should like to take you away to a much prettier house than this, and give you all kinds of beautiful things.”
Jeanie looked at him with steadfast eyes. Not a blush touched her face—not the slightest gleam of consciousness came into her quiet, steady gaze. “It’s a dreadful thing to say of a man,” she said; “a man should be a shelter from the storm and a covert from the tempest. It’s in the Bible so; but you’re no shelter to anybody, poor man. You’re growing old, and yet ye never learn——”
“By Jove!” said Arthur, rising up. He had forgotten both Clare and Alice for the moment, and this little cottager was avenging them. But yet the reproof was so whimsical that it diverted him. “Do you know you are a very uncivil little girl,” he said. “Are you not afraid to speak to me so, and you quite alone?”
“I’m no feared for you now,” said Jeanie. “I was silly when I was feared. There is nothing you could do to me, even if ye wanted; and ye’re no so ill a man as to want to harm me.”
“Thank you for your good opinion,” said Arthur; “but there are a great many things I could do. I could give you pretty dresses and a carriage, and everything you can think of; and if you were very sweet and kind to me——”
“Mr. Arden,” said a voice over his shoulders, “if you have business with Jeanie, maybe it would be mair simple and straightforward if ye would settle it with me.”
Arthur turned round with a mixture of rage and dismay, and found himself confronting Mr. Perfitt, who stood stern and serious in the doorway. He had need of all his readiness of mind to meet such an emergency. He paused a moment, feeling himself at bay; but he was not the man to lose his head even in so disagreeable a crisis.
“My business is not with Jeanie,” he said, briskly. “My business is with old Sarah, who is not to be found; but you will do quite as well, Perfitt. I want to send a note to Miss Arden. If Jeanie will get me some paper? Do you understand me, little one? Could you give me some paper to write a little letter? Poor child; do you think she understands?”
Thus he got the better of both the protector and protected. Jeanie, who had been impervious to all else, blushed crimson at this doubt of her understanding; and so did Perfitt. “She’s no like an innocent or a natural. She’s been well brought up and well learned,” the Scotchman said, with natural and national indignation. “Indeed! I thought she was an unmistakable innocent,” said Arthur; and thus it came about that Clare’s note was written after all.