I do not suppose that I had the dimmest notion at the time that this man, whom I considered my , had sprung surely, and as soon as I saw him, into that mysterious blank space that exists in every woman's imagination, waiting to be filled by the figure that shall henceforth bound her horizon. I do not suppose that I guessed at my real feelings for a moment. If I had done so, I am sure that it would only have my hostile attitude, whereas my first most mood was beginning slowly to into one of friendly interest, and of eager desire to be of use.  
It is poor sport keeping up an attitude of towards a person who is unconscious of one's intention; and whether Mr. Harrod was really unconscious of my intention or not, he certainly acted as if he were, and was, as far as his reserved nature would allow, so friendly towards me, that I could not choose but be friendly towards him in return. Anyhow, it is true that ere three weeks had[131] passed, that began to happen which Joyce had so anxiously desired: Mr. Harrod and I began to make friends over our common interests.
 
A certain amount of defiance had begun to be transferred in me from him, whose coming I had so bitterly resented, to those who shared that of mine.
 
Reuben was still sadly . Luckily he was not much among the men; but where there's a will there's a way; and I'm afraid he had influence enough to do no good. And Deborah troubled me more. Although mother was for the bailiff, because he was the 's friend, and also because, I think, she was really far more anxious about father's health than she allowed us to guess, and wanted him to be saved work—Deborah had not really allowed herself to be convinced as she generally was.
 
She was not unreasonable; she was too clever to be unreasonable, and she loved us all too dearly to resent any step which she chose to believe was for the good of any of us. But I am sure she never believed that this step was for the good of any of us. From beginning to end she never liked Trayton Harrod. And what annoyed me about her at this time was that she pretended to be trying to make me like him; and as I innocently began to change my own feelings, so I naturally began to resent this attitude in her.
 
On the very afternoon of which I am thinking, I resented Deborah's attitude. I had been in the kitchen making cakes (when Joyce was away it was I who had to make the cakes), and Deborah had taken advantage of the opportunity to follow up the line already begun by my sister, and to beg me, for father's sake, to forget my and to be gracious to the young bailiff. As may be imagined, Deborah did not consider that she was bound to show any consideration in the matter of what she said to us girls.
 
"I know it comes hard on you, my dear," said she. "There's lots of little jobs you used to do afore, and no doubt did just as well, that'll be this young man's place to do now, and he won't notice whether you mind it or no. 'Tain't likely. But so long as he don't with what we've got to do, we'll mind our own business and never give him a thought. You see, child, it's your father has got to say whether the young man's a-helping or a-hindering. Maybe he'll find out these chaps, that have learned it all on book and paper, don't know the top from the bottom any better nor he do himself. But that's for them to settle atween 'em, and it's none of our ."
 
I don't know why this speech should specially have irritated me,[132] but it did. Even if I had begun to guess that I was growing to like Mr. Harrod better than I had intended to like him, I certainly should not have been glad that any one else should guess it. But the fact is that I believe I had lived the last fortnight without any thought, and that this speech of Deborah's roused me to an of my feelings which was annoying to me.
 
"I have no intention at all of being rude, Deb," exclaimed I. "I leave that to you. I don't think it's lady-like to be rude."
 
Deb laughed.
 
"Oh, come now, none of your hoighty-toightyness!" exclaimed she. "Who carried on up-stairs and down when first squire talked about a bailiff to master at all? I haven't nursed you when you were a baby not to know when you're in a bad temper. It's plain enough, my dear."
 
"I know I have a bad temper," said I; "but I don't see that that has anything to do with the matter."
 
I suppose something in the way I said it must have touched old Deb, who had a soft heart for all her rough ways, for she said in her topsy-turvy way:
 
"Well, there—no more I don't see that it has. All I mean is that if you let him alone he'll let you alone, and no harm done. You'll have the more time for your books and for looking after your clothes a bit. You know I've often told you you'll never get a beau so long as you go about gypsying as you do."
 
"Deborah, how dare you!" cried I, angrily. "You know very well that—"
 
"That I wouldn't have a lover for anything in the world," I was going to say, and deeply myself; but at that very moment mother opened the door and looked into the kitchen. She had her spectacles still on her nose, and an open letter in her hand.
 
"Margaret, I want you," said she, shortly, "in the ."
 
"I can't come just now, mother," answered I. "The cakes will burn."
 
"Deborah will see to the cakes," said mother, and I knew by her tone of voice that I must do as she bade me. "I want you at once."
 
I knew what it was about. Two days ago I had had a letter from Joyce. It gave me no news; she had got on with her ; she had trimmed herself a new ; Aunt Naomi's was no better; she hoped that father's gout had not returned—no news until the very end. Then she said she had been to the Royal[133] Academy of pictures in London, with an old lady who lived close to Aunt Naomi, and that she had there met Captain Forrester.
 
Certainly this was a big enough piece of news to suffice for one letter. But why had Joyce put it at the very end? and why did she hurry it over as quickly as possible, making no sort or kind of comment upon it? It was another of the things about Joyce that I could not make out. Why was she not proud of her engagement? Why did she never care to speak of it? I thought that if I were engaged to a man whom I loved I should be very proud of it, whereas she always seemed anxious to avoid the subject.
 
Of course it was horrible to be parted from him, but then it should lighten her burden to speak of it to some ............