Then she began to sob. It touched her that this young man should express sympathy, offer his help.
"Now listen to me," said Mr. Markham; "I am a barrister. I know the law, I have it at my ringers' ends, and I place myself, my knowledge and my abilities at your disposal. I shall feel proud, flattered to do so. Your beauty and your distress appeal to me irresistibly. Has the Squire been beating you?"
"Oh, no, not that."
"Then what has he done?"
"There are things worse to bear than a stick."
"What! Oh, the gay Lothario! He has been casting his eye about and has lost his leathery heart to some less well-favored wench than yourself."
Mehetabel moved further from him on the tree-bole.
He began picking at the great lichen that grew out of the decaying tree, and laughed.
"Have I hit it? Jealous, eh? Jealousy is at the bottom of it all. By Jove, the Broom-Squire isn't worth expending a jealous thought on. He's a poor sordid creature. Not worthy of you. So jealous, my little woman, eh?"
Mehetabel turned and looked steadily at him.