‘You are fond of teaching, I suppose?’

‘Yes, I like it.’

She stood in expectant waiting, her hands held together before her, her head just bent.  The attitude was grace itself.  Dagworthy raised his eyes slowly from her feet to her face.

‘But you wouldn’t care to go on with it always?’

‘I—­I don’t think about it,’ she replied, nervousness again seizing her.  There was a new look in his eyes, a vehemence, a fervour, which she dared not meet after the first glance.  He would not finish the strapping of the books, and she could not bid him do so.  Had she obeyed her instinct, she would have hastened away, heedless of anything but the desire to quit his presence.

‘How long will your holidays be?’ he asked, letting the books fall to the chair, as if by accident.

‘Till the end of September, I think.’

’So long?  I’m glad to hear that.  You will come again some day to my house with your father, won’t you?’

The words trembled upon his lips; it was not like his own voice, he could not control it.

‘Thank you, Mr. Dagworthy,’ she replied.

He bent to the books again, and this time succeeded in binding them together.  As he fastened the buckle, drops of perspiration fell from his forehead.

Emily thanked him, and held forth her hand for the books.  He took it in his own.

‘Miss Hood—­’

She drew her hand away, almost by force, and retreated a step; his face terrified her.

‘I sent Jessie off on purpose,’ he continued.  ’I knew you were here, and wanted to speak to you alone.  Since I met you that day on the Heath, I have had no rest—­I’ve wanted so to see you again.  The other morning at the Cartwrights’ it was almost more than I could do to go away.  I don’t know what’s come to me; I can’t put you out of my thoughts for one minute; I can’t give my attention to business, to anything.  I meant to have gone away before now, but I’ve put it off, day after day; once or twice I’ve all but come to your house, to ask to see you—­’

He spoke in a hurried, breathless way, almost with violence; passion was forcing the words from him, in spite of a shame which kept his face on fire.  There was something boyish in the simplicity of his phrases; he seemed to be making a confession that was compelled by fear, and at length his speech lost itself in incoherence.  He stood with his eyes fixed on the ground; perspiration covered his face.

‘Mr. Dagworthy—­’

Emily tried to break the intolerable silence.  Her strength was answering now to the demand upon it; his utter abashment before her could not but help her to calmness.  But the sound of her first word gave him voice again.

‘Let me speak first,’ he broke forth, now looking full at her.  ’That’s nothing of what I wanted to say; it sounds as if I wasn’t man enough to know my own mind.  I know it well enough, and I must say all I have to say, whilst you’re here to listen to me.  After all, you’re only a girl; but if you’d come here straight from heaven, I couldn’t find it harder to speak to you.’