Kate drew herself away, angry at his impudence, especially angry at his kissing her before Samuel Voaden. She threw down her pitchfork ('heable' in the local dialect), and folding her arms, said with a frown and a pout, 'Do the rest yourself. I will work for you no more.'
'Oh, Kate, do not take offence. I went naturally where was the sweetest hay.'
In her anger she looked prettier than when in good humour. She glanced round out of the corners of her eyes, and saw to her satisfaction that Samuel was on the further side of the waggon, unconscious of what had taken place. Hillary was humble, he made ample apology, and offered lavish flattery. Kate maintained, or affected to maintain, her anger for some time, and forced Larry to redouble his efforts to regain her favour. Her fair hair, fine as silk just wound from a cocoon, was ruffled over her brow, and her brow was pearled with heat-drops. She was a slender girl, with a long neck and the prettiest shoulders in the world. She wore a light gown, frilled about the throat and bosom and sleeves, tucked up at the side, showing a blue petticoat and white stockings. She picked up the 'heable' with a sigh, and then stood leaning on it, with the sleeves fallen back, exposing her delicate arms as far as the rosy elbows.
It was not possible for Kate to remain long angry with Larry, he was so good-natured, so full of fuss, so coaxing; he paid such pretty compliments, his eyes were so roguish, his face so handsome—besides, Samuel was on the other side of the waggon, seeing, hearing nothing.
The dimples formed in her cheeks, the contraction of lips and brows gave way, the angry sparkle disappeared from her blue eyes, and then her clear laugh announced that she was pacified. Hillary, knowing he had conquered, audacious in his pride of conquest, put his arm round her waist, stooped, and kissed the bare arm nearest him that rested on the pitchfork, then he sprang aside as she attempted to box his ears.
Honor was hard by and had seen both kisses, and had heard every word that had passed. She continued her work as though unconscious. For a moment, a pang of jealousy contracted her bosom, but she hastily mastered it. She knew that she could not, must not regard Hillary in any other light than as a brother, and yet she was unable to see her sister supplanting her in his affections without some natural qualms. But Honor was unselfish, and she hid her suffering. Kate as little suspected the state of her sister's heart as Honor suspected Kate's liking for Sam Voaden. And now, all at once, an idea shot through Honor's mind which crimsoned her face. How she had misread Hillary's manner when they were together watching for the lamb-killer! She had fancied then that his heart was drawing towards her, and the thought had filled her with unutterable happiness. Now she saw his demeanour in another aspect. He really loved Kate, and his affection for her was only a reflection of his love for the younger sister. He had sought to gain her esteem, to forward his suit with Kate. When this thought occurred to Honor, she hid her face, humbled and distressed at having been deluded by self-conceit. She made it clear to herself now that Hillary had thought only of Kate. Her sister had said nothing to her about Hillary—but was that wonderful, as he had not declared himself? A transient gleam had lightened her soul. It was over. Work was Honor's lot in life, perhaps sorrow, not love.
'The last load is carried, and in good order. Where is the dance to be?' asked Samuel Voaden, coming into sight as the waggon moved on.
'In the barn,' answered Hillary.
'Kate,' said Hillary, 'give me the first dance.'
'And me the second,' pleaded Samuel.