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"I should like the simplicity of it," she maintained. "And getting up at five in the morning to make the butter? I can see you doing it!" Hugh Chesyl's speech went into his easy, high-bred laugh. "You of all people the dainty and disdainful Miss Elliot, for whom no man is good enough!" "I don't know why you say that." There was quick protest in the girl's voice.
He had his hat in his hand, and the afternoon sun fell full upon his uncovered head, revealing a rugged, clean-shaven face that had in it a good deal of British strength and a suspicion of gipsy alertness. To Chesyl's further amazement he did not appear in the least abashed by the encounter. "I'm sorry I overheard you," he said, with blunt deference. "I was half-asleep at first.
What wonder that she preferred starvation! His hands were still clenched as he turned from the window. Oh, to have been in Hugh Chesyl's place! She would have had no complaint then to make as to the quality of his offering. He would never have suffered her to go hungry. And yet the feeling that Hugh Chesyl loved her lingered still in his soul. Ah, what a fool! What a fool!
I should be only glad that he had enough of the real thing in him to go out in all weathers and not to care." "All of which is aimed at me," said Hugh to the trees above him. "I'm afraid I'm boring you more than usual this afternoon." "You can't help it," said Doris. Hugh Chesyl's good-looking face crumpled a little, then smoothed itself again to its usual placid expression.
"Should I be any happier if I did?" said Doris, with a smile that was somehow slightly piteous. "I don't know." Hugh Chesyl's voice was as pleasantly vague as his personality. "I shouldn't get in your way at all, and, at least, you would have a home of your own." "To be miserable in," said Doris, with suppressed vehemence. "I don't know why you should be miserable," he said.
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