"Run down and get some."

Mary Ann was startled by the splendour of the deed. She took the jug
silently and disappeared.

When she returned he said: "Well, you haven't told me half yet. I
suppose you kept bees?"

"Oh yes, and I fed the pigs."

"Hang the pigs! Let's hear something more romantic."

"There was the calves to suckle sometimes, when the mother died or was
sold."

"Calves! H'm! H'm! Well, but how could you do that?"

"Dipped my fingers in milk, and let the calves suck 'em. The silly
creatures thought it was their mothers' teats. Like this."

With a happy inspiration she put her fingers into the slop-basin, and
held them up dripping.

Lancelot groaned. It was not only that his improved Mary Ann was again
sinking to earth, unable to soar in the romantic aether where he would
fain have seen her volant; it was not only that the coarseness of her
nature had power to drag her down, it was the coarseness of her red,
chapped hands that was thrust once again and violently upon his
reluctant consciousness.

Then, like Mary Ann, he had an inspiration.

"How would you like a pair of gloves, Mary Ann?"

He had struck the latent feminine. Her eyes gleamed. "Oh, sir!" was
all she could say. Then a swift shade of disappointment darkened the
eager little face.

"But I never goes out," she cried.

"I never _go_ out," he corrected, shuddering.

"I never _go_ out," said Mary Ann, her lip twitching.

"That doesn't matter. I want you to wear them indoors."

"But there's nobody to see 'em indoors!"

"I shall see them," he reminded her.

"But they'll get dirty."

"No they won't. You shall only wear them when you come to me. If I
buy you a nice pair of gloves, will you promise to put them on every
time I ring for you?"

"But what'll missus say?"

"Missus won't see them. The moment you come in, you'll put them on,
and just before going out--you'll take them off! See!"

"Yessir. Then nobody'll see me looking so grand but you."

"That's it. And wouldn't you rather look grand for me than for anybody
else?"

"Of course I would, sir," said Mary Ann, earnestly, with a grateful
little sigh.

So Lancelot measured her wrist, feeling her pulse beat madly. She
really had a very little hand, though to his sensitive vision the
roughness of the skin seemed to swell it to a size demanding a
boxing-glove. He bought her six pairs of tan kid, in a beautiful
cardboard box. He could ill afford th