“And if I have, wot matter? It meant naun. You aun’t the fust lad that’s kissed me, nor the last, nuther.”
It hurt her to have to speak so plainly, but Jerry Sumption must be put right at once on one or two important matters he seemed to have misunderstood. She saw his face go pale under its sunburn and she felt sorry for him. None the less, she stuck to her harshness.
“I likked you well enough, and I lik you still; but if you think as I meant more’n I did or said, you’re unaccountable mistaaken.”
“Ivy—come out of doors with me. I can’t speak to you in here. When my heart’s full I want the wind blowing round me.”
She shook her head. “No, Jerry; we’ll stay where we are, surelye. You’re hedge-born, but I’m house-born, and I lik four walls around me when I’m vrothered. Now, lad, doan’t that show you as we two cud never mate?”
“So, I’m vrothering you, am I?”
“Unaccountable.”
“Reckon I didn’t vrother you when I clipped you in the lane by the stack of Slivericks.”
“Doan’t ’ee....”
His strange power over her was coming back. Looking into his eyes she seemed to see strange secrets of woods, memories of roads and stars, and a light that was like the light of a burning wood, such as she had once seen, licking up from the west, burning the little farm and the barns. She was frightened of Jerry, just as she was frightened of Dallington churchyard at night, or that field-corner by Padgham, where strange lights are sometimes seen. Yet it was a fear which instead of making her run, made her stumble and droop towards him, seeking refuge from terror in its source....