It enchanted her to receive information on agricultural subjects, and she could have listened to him for hours. Every word that Edward spoke was charming and original Bertha never took her eyes off him; she loved to see him speak, and often scarcely listened to what he said, merely watching the play of his expression. It puzzled him sometimes to catch her smile of intense happiness, when he was discussing the bush-drainage, for instance, of some field. However, she really took a deep interest in all his stock, and never failed to inquire after a bullock that was indisposed; it pleased her to think of the strong man among his beasts, and the thought gave a tautness to her own muscles. She determined to learn riding and tennis and golf, so that she might accompany him in his amusements; her own attainments seemed unnecessary and even humiliating. Looking at Edward Craddock she realised that man was indeed the lord of creation. She saw him striding over his fields with long steps, ordering his labourers here and there, able to direct their operations, fearless, brave, and free. It was astonishing how many excellent traits she derived from examination of his profile. Then, talking of the men he employed, she could imagine no felicity greater than to have such a master. “I should like to be a milkmaid on your farm,” she said. “I don’t keep milkmaids,” he replied. “I have a milkman; it’s more useful.” “You dear old thing,” she cried. “How matter of fact you are!” She caught hold of his hands and looked at them. “I’m rather frightened of you, sometimes,” she said, laughing. “You’re so strong. I feel so utterly weak and helpless beside you.” “Are you afraid I shall beat you?” She looked up at him and then down at the strong hands. “I don’t think I should mind if you did. I think I should only love you more.” He burst out laughing and kissed her. “I’m not joking,” she said. “I understand now those women who love beasts of men. They say that some wives will stand anything from their husbands; they love them all the more because they’re brutal. I think I’m like that; but I’ve never seen you in a passion, Eddie. What are you like when you’re angry?” “I never am angry.” “Miss Glover told me that you had the best temper in the world. I’m terrified at all these perfections.” “Don’t expect too much from me, Bertha. I’m not a model man, you know.” Of course she kissed him when he made remarks of such absurd modesty. “I’m very pleased,” she answered; “I don’t want perfection. Of course you’ve got faults, though I can’t see them yet. But when I do, I know I shall only love you better. When a woman loves an ugly man, they say the ugliness only makes him more attractive and I shall love your faults as I love everything that is yours.”