Directly it was over, she fled, taking the narrow path by the side of the church to the fields; but before she was half way across the first field, she heard a quick step following her. Beth felt she must stop short—or run; she began to run.
"Beth! Beth! wait for me," he called.
Beth stopped, then turned to greet him shyly; but when he came close, and put his arm round her, she looked up smiling. They gazed into each other's eyes a moment, and then kissed awkwardly, like children.
"Were you any the worse for our adventure?" he asked. "I've been longing to know."
"I had a headache yesterday," said Beth. "How were you?"
"All stiff and aching," he replied, "or I should have been to ask after you."
"I'm glad you didn't come," Beth ejaculated.
"Why? I ought to know your people, you know. Why don't the Richardsons know them?"
"Because we're poor," Beth answered bluntly; "and Mr. Richardson neglects his poor parishioners."
"All the more reason that I should call," Alfred Cayley Pounce persisted. "You are people of good family like ourselves, and old Rich is a nobody."