s with a voice like a year-old heifer's.
No, none of these had a step like this step--sauntering, light, and
meditative. Nevertheless, it was a step which Rosamund loved to hear.

She stopped churning, and moved softly to where a brightly-polished
tin pan was set up on the shelf. It was Rosamund's looking-glass.
Before this she smoothed her rumpled hair, straightened the pink bow
at her throat, and snatched off her dirty apron. She was provoked to
see how red the churning had made her cheeks, and she wished she were
paler; but the wish only seemed to make her rosier than before. She
told herself that she was a coarse-looking ugly girl; and yet when,
only that morning, Dorimund had told her that she was as beautiful
as a fairy, she had taken it quite as a matter of course. It was
tiresome--the way people could grow ugly all in a moment--and in the
wrong moment too!

All this happened during the two or three minutes after the
light-stepping visitor had come into the bar; and now this person
tapped twice or thrice on the counter. Rosamund, on hearing the tap,
began to hum a little song, in an unconcerned sort of way, and walked
up and down the dairy a few times, as if she were putting things in
order; and when, at last, she came out to the bar, it was with the air
of a very busy young woman, who does not like to be disturbed at her
churning.

'Oh, is it you?' she said to the person who was leaning on the
counter. 'How do you do? I hope you're thirsty?'

The person smiled. He was a handsome young fellow, with dark hair and
a pale face, and he looked at Rosamund with a pair of thoughtful eyes.
His dress was plain and rather the worse for wear; but round his neck
a bright spade guinea was hung by a silken string. It did not seem
different from any other spade guinea, yet there must have been
something peculiar about it. For it gave a kind of dignity to the
young man's aspect, so that if you fixed your eyes upon the coin you
forgot the wearer's shabbiness, and almost fancied him to be a noble
and opulent personage. Whether the owner were aware of this or not is
another question; but, as a general thing, young people seldom know
what it is about them that makes them attractive.

'I hope you are thirsty?' Rosamund repeated, in a business-like tone,
as she leaned against the other side of the counter, and looked up at
the young man with her lovely blue eyes.

'I am not thirsty, Rosamund,' he replied, 'but I am tired.'

'