Sight of Loveday, a Loveday oddly changed from that of the day earlier, did not ease her sickness; the light in Loveday’s eye, the fresh exhilaration of her step—­she, who was wont to slip along with so much of quiet aloofness—­stung the other girl anew.  Loveday greeted Mrs. Lear eagerly before she saw that Primrose was sitting half-hidden by the wings of the big chair, her face, paler than its wont, in shadow, pallid like a face seen through still water.  Then she saw also handsome Willie, dark against the small square panes of the window, the April sun gilding the curve of his ruddy cheek and making the pots of red geraniums along the sill blaze as brightly as the beautiful blossoms of painted wax that, under their glass shade, held an example of neat perfection up to Nature.

Willie nodded at Loveday with a trifle less of sulkiness in his manner, took a step forward and relapsed once more.  A little silence seemed to catch them all, broken by good Mrs. Lear saying: 

“You’m early to-day, Loveday.  Milken’s not over yet.”

“I’m come to see you a moment, if ’tes possible,” said Loveday, some of her shining confidence already fallen from her, she knew not why.

“Well,” said Primrose spitefully, guessing her presence would embarrass Loveday, “Mrs. Lear’s here and I daresay’ll speak to ’ee.  Can’t be any secret from me, of course, whatever ’tes.”

Mrs. Lear, suddenly sorry for Loveday, although Primrose on entering the day before had told her a tale that had angered her, said: 

“Come into dairy, Loveday; you can tell me what ’tes while I see to your aunt’s bit of butter.”

Loveday followed her into the cool dairy, where on the scrubbed white wood shelves the great red earthen pans stood in rows holding their thick crinkled cream, which Loveday never saw without a thought of awe for her mother’s miracle, and the waves that had surged over her father’s head.  Thought of it now restored her sense of her own power—­the cream was ever for her a symbol of divine interposition, and if her own parents had been found worthy of such a sign, why should not she too have that something apart and strong which forced signs from the very heavens, that something apart which indeed she could not but feel sure she possessed, never with such a gladness in the certainty until the miraculous yesterday?

Eagerly she unfolded her plans to Mrs. Lear, her words falling forth in a rush as hurried as a moorland stream after rain, yet as clear too, and as she spoke of her hopes and plans her black eyes scanned Mrs. Lear’s face more in faith than anxiety.  But Mrs. Lear wore a strange look that to one less eager than the girl would have shown as pity.

“Softly, Loveday, softly,” she said at last, “while I see if I can get to the rights of this.  You want to earn money for yourself this next month to buy your white riband with.  Have ’ee thought ’tes an extravagant purchase for a maid like you, who should be putten any money into warm flannel or a pair of good boots?”