Now this style of proceeding would certainly have caused her some annoyance, but for one compensating fact, which put the balance entirely on the other side. It was evident that, despite the change, Brinkley’s interest in Matt was not lessening, nay, it rather seemed to be on the increase, and this fact Matt, very woman as she was, was quick to perceive.
Very often, on looking suddenly at him, she found his eyes fixed wonderingly and sympathetically upon her. She asked him on one occasion what he was thinking about.
“You, Matt,” he answered promptly. “I was trying to imagine,” he continued, seeing her blush and hang her head, “how you would look in silks and velvets; got up, in fact, like a grand demoiselle. What would you say, now, if a good fairy were to find you out some day, and were to offer to change you from what you are to a fine young lady—would you say Yes?”
Matt reflected for a moment, then she followed her feminine instinct, and nodded her head vigorously.
“Ah!—by the way, Matt, can you read?”
“Print, not writing.”
“And write?”
“Just a bit.”
“Who taught you? William Jones?”
“No, that he didn’t. I learned off Tim Pensera down village. William Jones, he can’t read and he can’t write; no more can William Jones’s father.”