"Was it your new bonnet, my dear?"
Isabel laughed. "Women are not always thinking of their new bonnets,"
she answered.
Old Sharon, to all appearance, dropped the subject there. He lifted his
lean brown forefinger and pointed again--this time to a house at a short
distance from them. "That's a farmhouse, surely?" he said. "I'm thirsty
after my roll down the hill. Do you think, Miss, they would give me a
drink of milk?"
"I am sure they would," said Isabel. "I know the people. Shall I go and
ask them?"
"Thank you, my dear. One word more before you go. About the sealing of
that letter? What _could_ you have been thinking of while you were doing
it?" He looked hard at her, and took her suddenly by the arm. "Was it
your sweetheart?" he asked, in a whisper.
The question instantly reminded Isabel that she had been thinking of
Hardyman while she sealed the letter. She blushed as the remembrance
crossed her mind. Robert, noticing the embarrassment, spoke sharply to
Old Sharon. "You have no right to put such a question to a young lady,"
he said. "Be a little more careful for the future."
"There! there! don't be hard on me," pleaded the old rogue. "An ugly old
man like me may make his innocent little joke--eh, miss? I'm sure you're
too sweet-tempered to be angry when I meant no offense.. Show me that
you bear no malice. Go, like a forgiving young angel, and ask for the
milk."
Nobody appealed to Isabel's sweetness of temper in vain. "I will do it
with pleasure," she said--and hastened away to the farmhouse.
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