“Why,” said she, indulgent, “what are you going to do?” “You wait a bit an’ see—they don’t know yet what I can do—they don’t know—_you_ don’t know—none of you know.” “An’ what shall you do when we’re rich, George?” “Do?—I shall do what I like. I can make as good a show as anybody else, can’t I?”—he put his face very near to hers, and nodded at her, but she did not turn away.—“Yes—I’ll see what it’s like to have my fling. We’ve been too cautious, our family has—an’ I have; we’re frightened of ourselves, to do anything. I’m goin’ to do what I like, my duck, now—I don’t care—— I don’t care—that!”—he brought his hand down heavily on the table nearest him, and broke a glass. Bill looked in to see what was happening. “But you won’t do anything that’s not right, George!” “No—I don’t want to hurt nobody—but I don’t care—that!” “You’re too good-hearted to do anybody any harm.” “I believe I am. You know me a bit, you do, Meg—you don’t think I’m a fool now, do you?” “I’m sure I don’t—who does?” “No—you don’t—I know you don’t. Gi’e me a kiss—thou’rt a little beauty, thou art—like a ripe plum! I could set my teeth in thee, thou’rt that nice—full o’ red juice”—he playfully pretended to bite her. She laughed, and gently pushed him away. “Tha likest me, doesna ta?” he asked softly. “What do you want to know for?” she replied, with a tender archness. “But tha does—say now, tha does.” “I should a’ thought you’d a’ known, without telling.” “Nay, but I want to hear thee.” “Go on,” she said, and she kissed him. “But what should you do if I went to Canada and left you?” “Ah—you wouldn’t do that.” “But I might—and what then?” “Oh, I don’t know what I should do. But you wouldn’t do it, I know you wouldn’t—you couldn’t.” He quickly put his arms round her and kissed her, moved by the trembling surety of her tone: “No, I wouldna—I’d niver leave thee—tha’d be as miserable as sin, shouldna ta, my duck?” “Yes,” she murmured. “Ah,” he said, “tha’rt a warm little thing—tha loves me, eh?” “Yes,” she murmured, and he pressed her to him, and kissed her, and held her close. “We’ll be married soon, my bird—are ter glad?—in a bit—tha’rt glad, aren’t ta?” She looked up at him as if he were noble. Her love for him was so generous that it beautified him. He had to walk his bicycle home, being unable to ride; his shins, I know, were a good deal barked by the pedals. CHAPTER VII THE FASCINATION OF THE FORBIDDEN APPLE On the first Sunday in June, when Lettie knew she would keep her engagement with Leslie, and when she was having a day at home from Highclose, she got ready to go down to the mill. We were in mourning for an aunt, so she wore a dress of fine black voile, and a black hat with long feathers. Then, when I looked at her fair hands, and her arms closely covered in the long black cuffs of her sleeves, I felt keenly my old brother-love shielding, indulgent.