He would have passed on, but she barred the way, rather an imposing figure in her bottle-green driving coat, with a fur toque pressed down over the flying chestnut of her hair. Her cheeks were not so much coloured as stained deep with the sun and wind of Walland Marsh, and though it was November, a mass of little freckles smudged and scattered over her skin. It had not occurred to him before that she was even a good-looking creature. "I'm thinking, Mr. Trevor," she said deliberately, "that you and me aren't liking each other as much as we should ought." "Really, Miss Godden. I don't see why you need say that." "Well, we don't like each other, do we? Leastways, you don't like me. Now"--lifting a large, well-shaped hand--"you needn't gainsay me, for I know what you think. You think I was middling rude to Mr. Pratt in Pedlinge street that day I first met you--and so I think myself, and I'm sorry, and Mr. Pratt knows it. He came around two weeks back to ask about Milly Pump, my chicken-gal, getting confirmed, and I told him I liked him and his ways so much that he could confirm the lot, gals and men--even old Stuppeny who says he's been done already, but I say it don't matter, since he's so old that it's sure to have worn off by this time." Martin stared at her with his mouth open. "So I say as I've done proper by Mr. Pratt," she continued, her voice rising to a husky flurry, "for I'll have to give 'em all a day off to get confirmed in, and that'll be a tedious affair for me. However, I don't grudge it, if it'll make things up between us--between you and me, I'm meaning." "But, I--I--that is, you've made a mistake--your behaviour to Mr. Pratt is no concern of mine." He was getting terribly embarrassed--this dreadful woman, what would she say next? Unconsciously yielding to a nervous habit, he took off his cap and violently rubbed up his hair the wrong way. The action somehow appealed to Joanna. "But it is your concern, I reckon--you've shown me plain that it is. I could see you were offended at the Farmers' Dinner." A qualm of compunction smote Martin. "You're showing me that I've been jolly rude." "Well, I won't say you haven't," said Joanna affably. "Still you've had reason. I reckon no one ud like me better for behaving rude to Mr. Pratt ..." "Oh, damn Mr. Pratt!" cried Martin, completely losing his head--"I tell you I don't care tuppence what you or anyone says or does to him." "Then you should ought to care, Mr. Trevor," said Joanna staidly, "not that I've any right to tell you, seeing how I've behaved. But at least I gave him a harmonium first--it's only that I couldn't abide the fuss he made of his thanks. I like doing things for folks, but I can't stand their making fools of themselves and me over it."