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."
Hardyman suddenly stood still, and emphasized his next words by digging
his stick into the grass.
"If anything I have said has vexed you," he began, "tell me so plainly,
Miss Isabel, and I'll ask your pardon. But don't throw my rank in my
face. I cut adrift from all that nonsense when I took this farm and got
my living out of the horses. What has a man's rank to do with a man's
feelings?" he went on, with another emphatic dig of his stick. "I am
quite serious in asking if you like me--for this good reason, that I
like you. Yes, I do. You remember that day when I bled the old
lady's dog--well, I have found out since then that there's a sort of
incompleteness in my life which I never suspected before. It's you who
have put that idea into my head. You didn't mean it, I dare say, but you
have done it all the same. I sat alone here yesterday evening smoking
my pipe--and I didn't enjoy it. I breakfasted alone this morning--and I
didn't enjoy _that_. I said to myself, She's coming to lunch, that's one
comfort--I shall enjoy lunch. That's what I feel, roughly described.
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