Isabel stopped and looked back. Hardyman’s language was becoming a little too explicit. “Surely we have lost Mrs. Drumblade and my aunt,” she said. “I don’t see them anywhere.”
“You will see them directly; they are only a long way behind.” With this assurance, he returned, in his own obstinate way, to his one object in view. “Miss Isabel, I want to ask you a question. I’m not a ladies’ man. I speak my mind plainly to everybody—women included. Do you like being here to-day?”
Isabel’s gravity was not proof against this very downright question. “I should be hard to please,” she said laughing, “if I didn’t enjoy my visit to the farm.”
Hardyman pushed steadily forward through the obstacle of the farm to the question of the farm’s master. “You like being here,” he repeated. “Do you like Me?”
This was serious. Isabel drew back a little, and looked at him. He waited with the most impenetrable gravity for her reply.
“I think you can hardly expect me to answer that question,” she said
“Why not?”
“Our acquaintance has been a very short one, Mr. Hardyman. And, if you are so good as to forget the difference between us, I think I ought to remember it.”
“What difference?”
“The difference in rank.”