And he took a biscuit, while a very slight unbending of the lines of his face said that the excellence of Faith's handiwork was at least not always so apparent.
"Miss Faith, what shall I give you in return that is beyond your reach and (comparatively) within mine?"
Possibly—possibly, the slight grave opening of two rather dark eyes confessed that in her apprehension the store thus designated, from which he might give her, was very large indeed. But if that was so, her lips came short of the truth, for she answered,—
"I don't want anything, thank you."
"Not even butter?"—with his hand on the knife.
Faith seemed inclined not to want butter, but finally submitted and held out her plate. Whereupon, having helped her and himself, the stranger diverged a little, with the rather startling question,
"What sort of a Flora have you in this neighbourhood?"
"There isn't any, mother?" said Faith, with a doubtful appeal towards the tea-tray.
A pleasant look fell upon her while her look went away—a look which said he would like to tell her all about the matter, then and there; but merely taking another of the white biscuits, he went on to ask whether the roads were good and the views fine.
"The roads are first-rate," said Mrs. Derrick. "I don't know much of views myself, but Faith thinks they're wonderful."