“But in that case Arthur must give way,” I said.

Anne was silent for a moment and then said in a horribly formal voice.  “Am I to understand, Mr. Melhuish, that you are proposing to lend Arthur this money?”

“On any terms he likes,” I agreed warmly.

“Why?”

I could not mistake her intention.  I knew that she expected me to say that it was for her sake.  I was no less certain that if I did say that she would snub me.  Her whole tone and manner since she had come out to the gate had challenged me.

“Here we are alone in the moonlight,” her attitude had said.  “You’ve been trying to hint some kind of admiration for me ever since we met.  Now, let us get that over and finished with, so that we can discuss this business of my father’s.”

“Because I like him,” I said.  “I haven’t known him long, of course; only a few hours altogether; but...”  I stopped because I was afraid she would think that the continuation of the argument might be meant to apply to her rather than to Arthur; and I had no intention of pleading by innuendo.  When I did speak, I meant to speak directly, and there was but one thing I had to say.  If that failed, I was ready to admit that I had been suffering under a delusion.

“Well?” she prompted me.

“That’s all,” I said.

“Weren’t you going to say that it wasn’t how long you’d known a person that mattered?”

“It certainly didn’t matter in Arthur’s case,” I said.  “I liked him from the first moment I saw him.  It’s true that we had been talking for some time before there was light enough for me to see him.”

“You like him so much that you’d be willing to lend him all the money he wanted, without security?” she asked.

“Yes, all the money I have,” I said.

“Without any—­any sort of condition?”

“I should make one condition,” I replied.

“Which is?”

“That he’d let me come and stay with him, and Brenda, and all of you—­on the farm.”

“And, of course, we should all have to be very nice to you, and treat you as our benefactor—­our proprietor, almost,” she suggested cruelly.

I was hurt, and for a moment I was inclined to behave much as young Turnbull had behaved that afternoon, to turn away and sulk, and show that I had been grievously misunderstood.  I overcame that impulse, however.  “I shouldn’t expect you to curtsey!” I said.

She turned to me with one of her instant changes of mood.

“Why don’t you tell me the truth?” she asked passionately.

“The truth you mean hasn’t anything whatever to do with what we’re talking about now,” I said.