“You found your cousin’s company too rough for you.”
Bess flashed a look at Richard, and walked on in silence for some moments, with a fine color upon her face. There was no suggestion of patronage in Jeffray’s manner.
“I am not afraid of Dan,” she answered, “though I am grateful to you—for this.”
A sudden realization of the gulf between them had taken hold of the girl’s heart. This Richard Jeffray was one of the gentry, and she, a poor forest wench not fit to stand before women, less handsome and less honest than herself. At Rodenham she would take her meals in the servants’ hall, and sleep in an attic under the roof. It would even be considered a favor if the young squire spoke to her. No. She loved Pevensel and her forest liberty better than that.
“I am not afraid of Dan,” she said again, with a fine lifting of her head.
Jeffray felt something of the pride that played in her, and respected her the more for it.
“I am not dropping a favor for you, Bess,” he said.
“Thank you,” she answered.
“You see—you saved me from Dan’s cudgelling. And you—and Ursula have been very kind to me.”
They looked at each other half questioningly, a long and steady look that bore more meaning than many words. Richard blushed under the girl’s gaze. He suspected the spirit in her, and was loath to think that he had hurt her pride.