“Is it really necessary, this work?” There was a touch of bitterness in Prudence’s voice. But the next moment she went on cheerfully. She would not allow herself to stand in her lover’s way. “The usual people are coming. It will be just our monthly gathering of neighbouring––moss-backs,” with a laugh. “The Turners, the Furrers––Peter Furrers, of course; he still hopes to cut you out––and the girls; old Gleichen and his two sons, Harry and Tim. And the Ganthorns from Rosebank and their cousins the Covills of Lakeville. And––I almost forgot him––mother’s flame, George Iredale of Lonely Ranch.”
“Is Iredale coming? It’s too bad of you to have him here, Prue. Your mother’s flame––um, I like that. Why, he’s been after you for over three years. It’s not right to ask him when I am here, besides–––” 60 Grey broke off abruptly. Darkness hid the angry flush which had spread over his face. The girl knew he was angry. His tone was raised, and there was no mistaking Leslie Grey’s anger. He was very nearly a gentleman, but not quite.
“I think I have a perfect right to ask him, Leslie,” she answered seriously. “His coming can make no possible difference to you. Frankly, I like him, but that makes no difference to my love for you. Why, you dear, silly thing, if he asked me from now till Doomsday I wouldn’t marry him. He’s just a real good friend. But still, if it will please you, I don’t mind admitting that mother insisted on his coming, and that I had nothing to do with it. That is why I call him mother’s flame. Now, then, take that ugly frown off your face and say you’re sorry.”
Grey showed no sign of obedience; he was very angry. It was believed and put about by the busy-bodies of the district, that George Iredale had sought Prudence Malling in marriage ever since she had grown up. He was a bachelor of close upon forty. One of those quiet, determined men, slow of speech, even clumsy, but quick to make up their minds, and endowed with a great tenacity of purpose. A man who rarely said he was going to do a thing, but generally did it. These known features in a man who, up to the time of the announcement of Prudence’s engagement to Grey, had been a frequent visitor to the farm, and who was also well known to be wealthy and more than approved of by Mrs. Malling, no doubt, gave a certain amount of colour to the belief of those who chose to pry into their neighbours’ affairs.
“Anyway I don’t think there is room for both 61 Iredale and myself in the house,” Grey went on heatedly. “If you didn’t want him you should have put your foot down on your mother’s suggestion. I don’t think I shall come to-night.”
For one moment the girl looked squarely into her lover’s face and her pretty lips drew sharply together. Then she spoke quite coldly.
“You will––or I’ll never speak to you again. You are very foolish to make such a fuss.”
There was along silence between the lovers. Then Grey drew out his watch, opened it, glanced at the time, and snapped it closed again.
“I must go,” he said shortly.
Prudence had risen from the sofa. She no longer seemed to heed her lover. She was looking across the darkened room at the homely picture round the glowing stove.