Burton. I wish you
would stay here and write of my garden; the moorland, too, is
beautiful."
"I should like to very much," said Burton.
Mr. Cowper gazed at him in mild curiosity.
"You are a stranger to me, Mr. Burton," he remarked. "My daughter does
not often encourage visitors. Pray tell me, how did you make her
acquaintance?" "There was a bull," he commenced,--"A cow," she
interrupted softly.
"On the moor outside. Your daughter was a little terrified. She
accepted my escort after I had driven away the--animal."
The old gentleman looked as though he thought it the most natural thing
in the world.
"Dear me," he said, "how interesting! Edith, the strawberries this
afternoon are delicious. You must show Mr.--Mr. Burton our kitchen
gardens. Our south wall is famous."
This was the whole miracle of how Alfred Burton, whose first appearance
in the neighborhood had been as an extremely objectionable tripper, was
accepted almost as one of the family in a most exclusive little
household. Edith, cool and graceful, sitting back in her wicker chair
behind the daintily laid tea-table, seemed to take it all for granted.
Mr. Cowper, after rambling on for some time, made an excuse and
departed through the French windows of his library.
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