Part 7 (1/2)
”It is very kind of you to say so,” she said smiling at him a little shyly.
”I mean it. The fact is, Miss Farmond, you are a bit of a treat.”
The quaintness of the phrase was irresistible and she laughed outright.
”Am I?”
”It's a fact,” said he, ”you see I live an odd lonely kind of life here, and for most of my career I've lived an odd lonely kind of life too, so far as girls were concerned. It may sound rum to you to hear a backwood hunks of my time of life confessing to finding a girl of your age a bit of a treat, but it's a fact.”
”Yes,” she said. ”I should have thought I must seem rather young and foolish.”
”Lord, I don't mean that!” he exclaimed. ”I mean that _I_ must seem a pretty uninteresting bit of elderly shoe-leather.”
”Uninteresting? Oh no!” she cried in protest, and then checked herself and her colour rose a little.
He smiled humorously.
”I can't see you out of this gla.s.s eye unless I turn round, so whether you're pulling my leg or not I don't know, but I was just saying to old Simon that the only kind of lady likely to take an interest in me was a female collector of antique curiosities, and you don't seem that sort, Miss Farmond.”
She said nothing for a moment, and then asked:
”Were you discussing ladies then with Mr. Rattar?”
He also paused for a moment before replying.
”Incidentally in the course of a gossip, as the old chap hadn't got my business ready for me. By the way, did you get much change out of him?”
She shook her head a little mournfully.
”Nothing at all. He just asked questions instead of answering them.”
”So he did with me! Confound the man. I fancy he has made too much money and is beginning to take it easy. That's one advantage of not being too rich, Miss Farmond; it keeps you from waxing fat.”
”I'm not likely to wax fat then!” she laughed, and yet it was not quite a cheerful laugh.
He turned quickly and looked at her sympathetically.
”That your trouble?” he enquired in his outspoken way.
Cicely was not by way of giving her confidences easily, but this straight-forward, friendly attack penetrated her reserve.
”It makes one so dependent,” she said, her voice even lower than usual.
”That must be the devil,” he admitted.
”It is!” said she.
He whipped up the mare and ruminated in silence. Then he remarked:
”I'm just wondering.”