Volume Ii Part 19 (2/2)
”He's in the garden, Polly,” said Dill, as he pa.s.sed his daughter on the stairs; ”he came over here this morning to have a talk with you.”
”Indeed, sir!”
”Yes; he has got it into his head that you can be of service to him.”
”It is not impossible, sir; I think I might.”
”I'm glad to bear it, Polly; I'm delighted to see you take a good sensible view of things. I need not tell you he's a knowing one.”
”No, sir. But, as I have heard you card-players say, 'he shows his hand.'”
”So he does, Polly; but I have known fellows do that just to mislead the adversary.”
”Sorry adversaries that could be taken in so easily.” And with a saucy toss of her head she pa.s.sed on, scarcely noticing the warning gesture of her father's finger as she went.
When she had found her work-basket and supplied herself with the means of occupying her fingers for an hour or so, she repaired to the garden and took her seat under a large elm, around whose ma.s.sive trunk a mossy bench ran, divided by rustic-work into a series of separate places.
”What a churlish idea it was to erect these barricades, Miss Dill!” said Stapylton as he seated himself at her side; ”how unpicturesque and how prudis.h.!.+”
”It was a simple notion of my brother Tom's,” said she, smiling, ”who thought people would not be less agreeable by being reminded that they had a place of their own, and ought not to invade that of their neighbor.”
”What an unsocial thought!”
”Poor Tom! A strange reproach to make against _you_,” said she, laughing out.
”By the way, has n't he turned out a hero,--saved a s.h.i.+p and all she carried from the flames,--and all at the hazard of his own life?”
”He has done a very gallant thing; and, what's more, I 'll venture to say there is not a man who saw it thinks so little of it as himself.”
”I suppose that every brave man has more or less of that feeling.”
”I'm glad to learn this fact from such good authority,” said she, with a slight bend of the head.
”A prettily turned compliment, Miss Dill. Are you habitually given to flattery?”
”No? I rather think not. I believe the world is pleased to call me more candid than courteous.”
”Will you let me take you at the world's estimate,--that is, will you do me the inestimable favor to bestow a little of this same candor upon _me?_”
”Willingly. What is to be the subject of it?”
”The subject is a very humble one,--myself!”
”How can I possibly adjudicate on such a theme?”
”Better than you think for, perhaps!” And for a moment he appeared awkward and ill at ease. ”Miss Dill,” said he, after a pause, ”fortune has been using me roughly of late; and, like all men who deem themselves hardly treated, I fly at once to any quarter where I fancy I have found a more kindly disposition towards me. Am I indulging a self-delusion in believing that such sentiments are yours?”
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