Margaret Maliphant

								

I was not sure whether it was the thing to do in good society, such as
that to which I felt instinctively that he belonged, but I knew that
it was the hospitable thing to do, and I did it. Joyce seconded my
invitation in an inarticulate murmur.
I think we were both of us considerably relieved when he said with that
same gay smile, and speaking with his clear, well-bred accent: "Not
now, thank you. But I will come and call very soon, if I may."
He added the last words turning round to Joyce. She blushed and looked
uncomfortable. We were both thinking that mother might possibly not
welcome this stranger so cordially as we had done. However, I was not
going to have this good beginning spoiled by any mistake on my part,
and I hastened to say: "Oh yes, pray do come. I am sure mother will be
delighted to welcome any friend of Squire Broderick's."
He gave a little bow at that, but he did not say anything. He held out
his hand to me, and then turned to Joyce. I fancied that hers rested in
his just a moment longer than was necessary; but then I was in the mood
to build up any romance at the moment, and no doubt I was mistaken. But
anyhow, I turned the dog-cart down rather sharply towards the house,
and Captain Forrester had to stand aside. I was not going to have the
villagers gossiping; and such a thing had not been seen before, as
Farmer Maliphant's two daughters talking with a stranger at the corner
of the village street.
"I wonder whether he is staying at the Manor," said I, as we drove up
the gravel.
And Joyce echoed, "I wonder."
But she had plenty to do when she got in, showing her new purchases to
mother, and telling her the market prices of household commodities, and
I do not suppose that she gave a thought to her new admirer for some
time. At all events, she did not speak of him. Neither did I. I did not
go in-doors.
I always was an unnatural sort of a girl in some ways, and shopping and
talk about shopping never interested me. I preferred to remain in the
yard, and discuss the points of the new mare with Reuben. But all the
time, I was thinking of the man whom we had met in town, and wondering
whether or not he would turn out to be Joyce's lover. As I have said
before, Reuben and I were great friends. He was a gaunt, loose-limbed
old fellow, with a refined although by no means a handsome face, thin
features, a fair pale skin, with white whiskers upon it. In character
he was simple, obstinate, and taciturn, and had a queer habit of
applying the same tests to human beings as he did to dumb animals.
In the household--although every one respected his knowledge of his
own business--I think that he was regarded merely as an honest, loyal
nobody. It was only I who used sometimes to think that it was not all
obtuseness, but also a laudable desire for a quiet life, which led
Reuben to be such an easy mark for Deborah's wit, and apparently so
impervious to its arrows.
"She pulled, did she?" said he, with a smile that showed a very good