It is not for me to pretend to say whether I acted well or ill. But to one thing I can pledge my honour, that no small motive and no tender claims of beauty in distress detained me. If Pilla had been the plainest girl in the county of many acres, my behaviour would have been just the same. I never said a word to her that was not of the purest pity and good feeling; neither did she think twice of me, except as a willing and warm friend. There is nothing in me to attract any girl; and even if there were, any man who imagines that a loving daughter in deep affliction would set up a flirtation with a stranger, the same is a bad man, and proves it by measuring women by his own low mark.
However, no more of that. Enough that when we heard by telegram that Tom would be at home that night, I took the mail-train to London, and got home at breakfast-time on Sunday morning, having thus been absent just nine days.
CHAPTER XXXVI GONE, GONE, GONE
A small and well-measured breakfast-party, with the tea and the bacon and eggs provided, to expectation and experience, should not be disturbed by the sudden irruption of a rough, unshaven, crumple-shirted, and worst of all, unfed young fellow, who cannot remember when his last meal happened. Therefore I only sent word of my arrival, and went for a swim in Stoneman's lake, as my custom was throughout the year, while Sally was preparing me some bread and milk. But while I was getting through this, and thinking of putting myself into church-going gear, my sister Grace ran in, and embraced me, as warmly as if I were on the Stock Exchange.
"Oh, George, I think you are so noble," she declared, as if she had found me at last too large for her understanding, "to stay away so many weeks"—I had not been away for a week and a half, but let her have a girl's arithmetic—"simply for the sake of other people's affairs, without even appointing anybody to look after your own, all that long while. I thought that I was almost as unselfish as anybody ought to be. But I am not sure that I could quite have done all that."
"You don't understand things, my dear girl," I replied, with that superior tone which used to have a fine effect of closure upon the large feminine parlance. "I knew that hay was going up, and that Mr. Joplin would have to put five shillings on to every pound he offered me in October."
"Hay indeed!" she exclaimed with scorn. "George, it is sweet hay—sweet hay—sour hay! And you have not made it, while the sun shone."