'Yes; you can't quite reach up. That's because you are not very tall; is it not, Captain Loveday?'
'You never used to say things like that.'
'O, I don't mean that you are much less than tall. Shall I hold the paint for you, to save your stepping down?'
'Thank you, if you would.'
She took the paint-pot, and stood looking at the brush as it moved up and down in his hand.
'I hope I shall not sprinkle your fingers,' he observed as he dipped.
'O, that would not matter. You do it very well.'
'I am glad to hear that you think so.'
'But perhaps not quite so much art is demanded to paint a summer-house as to paint a picture?'
Thinking that, as a painter's daughter, and a person of education superior to his own, she spoke with a flavour of sarca**, he felt humbled and said--'You did not use to talk like that to me.'
'I was perhaps too young then to take any pleasure in giving pain,' she observed daringly.
'Does it give you pleasure?'
Anne nodded.
'I like to give pain to people who have given pain to me,' she said smartly, without removing her eyes from the green liquid in her hand.
'I ask your pardon for that.'
'I didn't say I meant you--though I did mean you.'
Bob looked and looked at her side face till he was bewitched into putting down his brush.
'It was that stupid forgetting of 'ee for a time!' he exclaimed.
'Well, I hadn't seen you for so very long--consider how many years!
O, dear Anne!' he said, advancing to take her hand, 'how well we knew one another when we were children. You was a queen to me then; and so you are now, and always.'
Possibly Anne was thrilled pleasantly enough at having brought the truant village lad to her feet again; but he was not to find the situation so easy as he imagined, and her hand was not to be taken yet.
'Very pretty!' she said, laughing. 'And only six weeks since Miss Johnson left.'
'Zounds, don't say anything about that!' implored Bob. 'I swear that I never--never deliberately loved her--for a long time together, that is; it was a sudden sort of thing, you know. But towards you--I have more or less honoured and respectfully loved you, off and on, all my life. There, that's true.'
Anne retorted quickly--'I am willing, off and on, to believe you, Captain Robert. But I don't see any good in your ****** these solemn declarations.'
'Give me leave to explain, dear Miss Garland. It is to get you to be pleased to renew an old promise--made years ago--that you'll think o' me.'
'Not a word of any promise will I repeat.'
'Well, well, I won't urge 'ee today. Only let me beg of you to get over the quite wrong notion you have of me; and it shall be my whole endeavour to fetch your gracious favour.'
Anne turned away from him and entered the house, whither in the course of a quarter of an hour he followed her, knocking at her door, and asking to be let in. She said she was busy; whereupon he went away, to come back again in a short time and receive the same answer.
'I have finished painting the summer-house for you,' he said through the door.
'I cannot come to see it. I shall be engaged till supper-time.'
She heard him breathe a heavy sigh and withdraw, murmuring something about his bad luck in being cut away from the starn like this. But it was not over yet. When supper-time came and they sat down together, she took upon herself to reprove him for what he had said to her in the garden.
Bob made his forehead express despair.
'Now, I beg you this one thing,' he said. 'Just let me know your whole mind. Then I shall have a chance to confess my faults and mend them, or clear my conduct to your satisfaction.'
She answered with quickness, but not loud enough to be heard by the old people at the other end of the table--'Then, Captain Loveday, I will tell you one thing, one fault, that perhaps would have been more proper to my character than to yours. You are too easily impressed by new faces, and that gives me a BAD OPINION of you--yes, a BAD OPINION.'
'O, that's it!' said Bob slowly, looking at her with the intense respect of a pupil for a master, her words being spoken in a manner so precisely between jest and earnest that he was in some doubt how they were to be received. 'Impressed by new faces. It is wrong, certainly, of me.'
The popping of a cork, and the pouring out of strong beer by the miller with a view to giving it a head, were apparently distractions sufficient to excuse her in not attending further to him; and during the remainder of the sitting her gentle chiding seemed to be sinking seriously into his mind. Perhaps her own heart ached to see how silent he was; but she had always meant to punish him. Day after day for two or three weeks she preserved the same demeanour, with a self-control which did justice to her character. And, on his part, considering what he had to put up with--how she eluded him, snapped him off, refused to come out when he called her, refused to see him when he wanted to enter the little parlour which she had now appropriated to her private use, his patience testified strongly to his good-humour.
