‘You’ve come all the way from the kiln, on purpose to meet me, and you shouldn’t have done it,’ she reproachfully returned.
‘We finished there at four, so it was no trouble; and if it had been—why, I should ha’ come.’
A small sigh was the response.
‘What, you are not even so glad to see me as you would be to see your dog or cat?’ he continued. ‘Come, Mis’ess Margery, this is rather hard. But, by George, how tired you dew look! Why, if you’d been up all night your eyes couldn’t be more like tea-saucers. You’ve walked tew far, that’s what it is. The weather is getting warm now, and the air of these low-lying meads is not strengthening in summer. I wish you lived up on higher ground with me, beside the kiln. You’d get as strong as a hoss! Well, there; all that will come in time.’
Instead of saying yes, the fair maid repressed another sigh.
‘What, won’t it, then?’ he said.
‘I suppose so,’ she answered. ‘If it is to be, it is.’
‘Well said—very well said, my dear.’
‘And if it isn’t to be it isn’t.’
‘What? Who’s been putting that into your head? Your grumpy granny, I suppose. However, how is she? Margery, I have been thinking to-day—in fact, I was thinking it yesterday and all the week—that really we might settle our little business this summer.’