Jeffray missed her meaning for the moment, and then caught a subtle something in the girl’s eyes that made him hold his breath.
“God knows, Bess,” he said, “whether you are a Grimshaw or no. I have as much honor for you as though you were my sister.”
She colored and looked a little peevish about the mouth.
“Thank you, Mr. Jeffray,” she answered.
They had come out upon the heath that smiled in the evening light. The deep azure of the east curved up beyond. The woods stood a rare purple below them, and a few plover were flapping and wailing over the moor.
“Bess,” said the man, looking in her face.
She glanced at him and waited.
“You will count me your friend?”
“Ah—I have done so—already.”
“And I want to talk with you again.”