“But why shouldn’t you join it, Miss Quarles?” he said. “It can’t be duller than chapel.”
“Now, now, Will.” She shook a serious finger. “You ought to have gone to chapel yourself this morning. And don’t call me Miss Quarles.”
“But why not Jinny?” Her voice was plaintive.
“Is that any reason why you should call me Miss Quarles?”
“I can’t, and I hope you won’t call me Miss Quarles.”
She laughed merrily at his discomfiture. “It’s a long story and Farmer Gale will be here. Hulloa,” she went on, making his confusion worse confounded, “how did Nip’s hairs get on you?”
He flushed, and flicked nervously at his coat. “There are other white dogs,” he said evasively.
He was gratified at her perception: still more at her setting down Nip. That animal, however, was in the rampageous mood which always followed his restoration to freedom, and he began leaping up at his mistress’s hand.
“Down, Nip, down! Oh, I do believe he’s bitten through my new glove!” She pulled it off ruefully to examine the damage.
“Sensible dog!” Will growled. “He knows you oughtn’t to be wearing Mr. Flippance’s gloves.”
Her own little white teeth flashed out in a mocking smile: “Lucky you are going to buy me another pair!”
“Me! Why, you wouldn’t let me when I offered.”
“Of course not. I’m thinking of the pair you’ll be owing me.”
“You don’t suppose you’ll win the wager, do you?”
“Oh, that!” He was disconcerted again. “Of course I’ll win it,” he said defiantly in a bombastic burst. “It won’t take me a day’s practice to blow down the walls of Jericho.”
She laughed. “So you do remember your Bible. Well, I’ll be satisfied if you blow Nip back from a rabbit.”
“We shall see. Have you superscribed again?” he asked pompously, assured of his accuracy this time.
“Not yet—I expect the horn’ll be at Chipstone by Tuesday—you shall have it the same evening.”
“And the next day I’ll be wanting gloves,” he said loftily.
“We shall see—or rather hear. What size do you take, though?”
“Oh, I don’t know—twice yours, I suppose.”
“Why, sure!” And he suddenly prisoned her little ungloved hand between his brawny palms. “I could easily crush it,” he said, with a strange desire to do so, pressing it indeed almost to hurting-point. At that instant a far-palpitating blueness transfigured the courtyard, and from above-stairs came a terrific racket as if all the plates and dishes in the dining-room were hurling themselves at one another. Will felt the girl’s fingers curl spasmodically round his and hold them tight: her face went white, and he seemed to hear her heart thumping.