second, she liked his
manner with her. Not a doubt was there, that he read her position. She
could impose upon some: not upon masculine eyes like these. They did not
scrutinize, nor ruffle a smooth surface with a snap at petty impressions;
and they were not cynically intimate or dominating or tentatively
amorous: clear good fellowship was in them. And it was a blessedness
(whatever might be her feeling later, when she came to thank him at
heart) to be in the presence of a man whose appearance breathed of
offering her common ground, whereon to meet and speak together,
unburdened by the hunting world, and by the stoneing world. Such common
ground seems a kind of celestial to the better order of those excluded
from it.

Dartrey relieved her midway in a rigid practice of the formalities: 'I
think I may guess that you have something to tell me relating to Miss
Radnor?'

'It is.' Mrs. Marsett gathered up for an immediate plunge, and deferred
it. 'I met her--we went out with the riding-master. She took to me. I
like her--I could say' (the woman's voice dropped dead low, in a
tremble), 'I love her. She is young: I could kneel to her. Do you know a
Major Worrell?'

'Worrell? no.'

'He is a-calls himself a friend of my--of Captain Marsett's. He met us
out one day.'

'He permitted himself to speak to Miss Radnor?'

She rejoiced in Dartrey's look. 'Not then. First let me tell you. I can
hardly tell you. But Miss Radnor tells me you are not like other men. You
have made your conclusions already. Are you asking what right I had to be
knowing her? It is her goodness. Accident began it; I did not deceive
her; as soon as ever I could I--I have Captain Marsett's promise to me:
at present he's situated, he--but I opened my heart to her: as much as a
woman can. It came! Did I do very wrong?'

'I'm not here to decide: continue, pray.'

Mrs. Marsett aimed at formal speech, and was driving upon her natural in
anger. 'I swear I did it for the best. She is an innocent girl . . .
young lady: only she has a head; she soon reads things. I saw the kind of
cloud in her. I spoke. I felt bound to: she said she would not forsake
me.--I was bound to! And it was enough to break my heart, to think of her
despising me. No, she forgave, pitied;--she was kind. Those are the
angels who cause us to think of changeing. I don't care for sermons, but
when I meet charity: I won't bore you!'

'You don't.'

'My . . . Captain Marsett can't bear--he call