"I did not expect you so soon. I
thought that Mr. Bomford and father wanted to talk to you." "So they
did," he replied. "They made me a foolish offer. It was Mr. Bomford's
idea, I am sure, not your father's. I am tired, Edith. Come and walk
with me."--She glanced out of the window.
"I think," she said demurely, "that I am expected to go for a ride with
Mr. Bomford."
"Then please disappoint him," he pleaded. "I do not like your friend
Mr. Bomford. He is an egotistical and ignorant person. We will go
across the moors, we will climb our little hill. Perhaps we might even
wait there until the sunset."
"I am quite sure," she said decidedly, "that Mr. Bomford would not like
that."
"What does it matter?" he answered. "A man like Mr. Bomford has no
right to have any authority over you at all. You are of a different
clay. I am sure that you will never marry him. If you will not walk
with me, I shall work, and I am not in the humor for work. I shall
probably spoil one of my best chapters."
She rose to her feet.
"In the interests of your novel!" she murmured. "Come! Only we had
better go out by the back door."
Like children they stole out of the house. They climbed the rolling
moorland till they reached the hill on the further side of the valley.
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