“No, come, that ain’t fair,” said Letty quickly. “It _was_ a dirty trick, and I knew that soon as ever I’d done it, but it was me that did it, and it’s me as has got to pay.” “Ye seem bound to stand up for Lambert,” growled Frewin. Letty looked up; she clenched her fist. “I _’ate_ ’im,” said she between her teeth. “Yes, I do,” she repeated, though half shame-facedly, as he gazed at her surprised. “I _’ate_ ’im, ’cos it was ’im as made me do it.” “’Ate ’im, do you?” echoed Frewin, with the ghost of a contented smile. “Well, may be that’s fair.” “I don’t care if it’s fair or no,” declared Letty stoutly. “May be it ain’t, for I’d ought to ha’ known better myself, but I ’ate ’im all the same. Though that ain’t no reason why you should mention the matter to ’im, for it stands to reason I’d no call to agree to what ’e said, and it’s me as ’as got to pay.” “It was ’e ought to ha’ known better,” grumbled Frewin again, still with a scowl on his honest face, “for ’e’s a man, and you expect a man to know better nor a girl.” But, after a pause, the scowl fading just a trifle, and the smile broadening instead: “So you ’ate ’im, do you?” he asked once more. Letty dried her eyes afresh, and it was her turn to smile just a wee little bit. She had watched these symptoms before—for was she not the village belle?—and even in the midst of her misery and remorse she could not help smiling as she recognized them under a new guise. “O’ course I do,” she repeated emphatically. Then she turned and pulled down another sheet off the line, and another and another, till her arms were quite full. Meanwhile Frewin stood watching her, indecision in every line of his face and figure. She was very pretty, very graceful about her work, very strong and hearty. Her fresh cheeks were pink even amid the pink blossom, and her golden hair shone against the golden sky, where the sun was setting on a bank of soft rose-washed grey clouds behind the trees of the orchard. “I s’pose anyways ye are sure to be taken up to-morrow evening?” said he at last. “A pretty girl like you always is o’ Sundays.” “Well, if you know as I’m taken up, I s’pose I must be,” said she with a little pout. “Ye didn’t answer just now,” he said. “Maybe ye didn’t ask,” retorted she. “Well, there, I’ll ask now,” said he with a bit of a shame-faced laugh. “Ye ’ave got a way with ye, miss, and no mistake!” “Don’t ask to please me,” she said with the old toss of the little head. But the smile took the venom out of the words, and Frewin bowed beneath it as he had been slowly bowing ever since he first felt the flash of it. “No, I’ll ask to please myself,” said he. And he went up to her and took her one free hand in his. Then the blushes crept right up into the bright hair, and there was silence.