“Ye ain’t pressin’ enough, man!” laughed he unpleasantly. “Try her again. She won’t say ye nay. That’s on’y coyness. Oh, no, she won’t say ye nay.”
And he slapped Preston loudly on the back, laughing again, and so passed back into the kitchen, still muttering, “Oh, no, she won’t say ye nay.”
But still Farmer Benson reckoned without his host.
Bess sat still, and the young man looked at her askance from time to time.
“Were the letter from t’other chap?” asked he at last.
“It’s a pity ’e burned it,” declared Preston sympathetically. “P’r’aps it might ’ave told ye somethin’ as ye wanted to know.”
“Yes,” assented Bess, “it’s a pity ’e burned it.”
“D’ye think it might ha’ been to tell ye the lad had changed ’is mind?” asked he.
“No,” she said. “He’s a-comin’ back to fetch me.”
“Oh,” said Preston, “he is, is he? Will yer father stomach it then, d’ye think?”
“I don’t know,” said Bess, looking at him. “But there’ll be some way.”
No misgiving occurred to her in confiding her secret to this new suitor; instinctively she felt he was her best friend.
“Yes, yes,” said he soothingly, “p’r’aps there will. Anyways,” he added after a minute, “I understand as ye don’t care to give yer word to no other chap just now. So we’ll let that be.”
“If I can do anything to ’elp ye, I’d be pleased,” he said. “And if it should fall through arter all, and ye seemed to feel ye could change yer mind, why in course I shall allers be willin’, ye know. I ain’t a changeable man. Ye can bear in mind that it’d be a comfortable ’ome and no worritin’.”
“You wouldn’t want it if ye knew all,” she repeated.
“Well, I ain’t a changeable man,” was his reply once more. “And I’ll be willin’ to serve ye at any time. Good-arternoon.”
He left her and she sat still, gazing into the fire.
She was grateful to Jim Preston—very grateful to him; she felt that she had one more friend in the world than she had thought to have an hour ago; still, her perplexity and trouble were greater than anything else could be. Jim Preston could do no more for her than what he had done—than promise not to renew his suit. And she sat gazing into the flames that had swallowed her last hope.
She saw her father join the young man at the garden gate, and walk with him down the road; she saw him stop suddenly, shaking his stick in the air, then stride forward, striking it furiously against the stones. She knew that what he was hearing was in no way appeasing his wrath against her; but she was past trembling, only she knew that she must make up her mind at once—before he came home—as to what she must do.