Mary Ann hung her head. “Once I went meechin’,” she said in low tones. “Some boys and girls they wanted me to go nutting, and I wanted to go too, but I didn’t know how to get away, and they told me to cough very loud when the sermon began, so I did, and coughed on and on till at last the vicar glowed at father, and father had to send me out of church.”
Lancelot laughed heartily. “Then you didn’t like the sermon.”
“It wasn’t that, sir. The sun was shining that beautiful outside, and I never minded the sermon, only I did get tired of sitting still. But I never done it again—our little Sally, she died soon after.”
Lancelot checked his laughter. “Poor little fool!” he thought. Then to brighten her up again he asked cheerily, “And what else did you do on the farm?”
“Oh, please sir, missus will be wanting me now.”
“Bother missus. I want some more milk,” he said, emptying the milk-jug into the slop-basin. “Run down and get some.”
Mary Ann was startled by the splendour of the deed. She took the jug silently and disappeared.
When she returned he said: “Well, you haven’t told me half yet. I suppose you kept bees?”
“Oh, yes, and I fed the pigs.”
“Hang the pigs! Let’s hear something more romantic.”
“There was the calves to suckle sometimes, when the mother died or was sold.”
“Calves! H’m! H’m! Well, but how could you do that?”
“Dipped my fingers in milk, and let the calves suck ’em. The silly creatures thought it was their mother’s teats. Like this.”
With a happy inspiration she put her fingers into the slop-basin, and held them up dripping.
Lancelot groaned. It was not only that his improved Mary Ann was again sinking to earth, unable to soar in the romantic aether where he would fain have seen her volant; it was not only that the coarseness of her nature had power to drag her down, it was the coarseness of her red, chapped hands that was thrust once again and violently upon his reluctant consciousness.
Then, like Mary Ann, he had an inspiration.
“How would you like a pair of gloves, Mary Ann?”
He had struck the latent feminine. Her eyes gleamed. “Oh, sir!” was all she could say. Then a swift shade of disappointment darkened the eager little face.
“But I never goes out,” she cried.
“I never go out,” he corrected, shuddering.
“I never go out,” said Mary Ann, her lip twitching.
“That doesn’t matter. I want you to wear them indoors.”
“But there’s nobody to see ’em indoors!”
“I shall see them,” he reminded her.
“But they’ll get dirty.”
“No they won’t. You shall only wear them when you come to me. If I buy you a nice pair of gloves, will you promise to put them on every time I ring for you?”
“But what’ll missus say?”