As she made no movement to let him pass he stood still, and, looking at her, began to smile.
She returned his gaze from unabashed dark eyes and then laughed, showing teeth white, sound, and smooth as split hazel-nuts.
“Do you wanter get over?” she remarked familiarly.
“I'm afraid I can't without disturbing you.”
“Dontcher think you're much better where you are?” said the girl, on which Willoughby hazarded:
“You mean to say looking at you? Well, perhaps I am!”
The girl at this laughed again, but nevertheless dropped herself down into the further field; then, leaning her arms upon the cross-bar, she informed the young man: “No, I don't wanter spoil your walk. You were goin' p'raps ter Beacon Point? It's very pretty that wye.”
“I was going nowhere in particular,” he replied: “just exploring, so to speak. I'm a stranger in these parts.”
“How funny! Imer stranger here too. I only come down larse Friday to stye with a Naunter mine in Horton. Are you stying in Horton?”
Willoughby told her he was not in Orton, but at Povey Cross Farm out in the other direction.