“‘But, Ruth, do you understand what I say? I am partly responsible for Westmacott’s dismissal.’
“Her hand and arm continued their rotary movement, but she turned her large eyes upon me.
“‘Why?’ she inquired, with disconcerting simplicity.
“‘I don’t like him,’ I muttered. ‘How could I live here, knowing you married to a man I dislike and mistrust?’
“To my surprise she said no more, but bent to her work, and I saw a great blush like a wave creep slowly over her half hidden face and down where her unfastened dress revealed her throat.
“‘Ruth,’ I said humbly, ‘are you angry with me?’
“I heard a ‘No,’ that glided out with her breath.
“‘I hope you don’t care for him too much? He isn’t worthy of you.’
“‘Can you lift that pail for me?’ she said, pointing, and I lifted the heavy pail, and poured it as she directed into the separator, a smooth Niagara of milk.
“About three days later my thatcher unbosomed himself to me. Westmacott had disappeared from the farm, and of course every one for five miles round knew that Pennistan had turned him out. I don’t know how they knew it, but country people seem to know things like a swallow knows its way to Egypt.