"Megan don' want yu."
A rush of jealousy, of contempt, and anger with this thick,
loud-breathing rustic got the better of Ashurst's self-possession; he
jumped up, and pushed back his chair.
"You can go to the devil!"
And as he said those simple words, he saw Megan in the doorway with a
tiny brown spaniel puppy in her arms. She came up to him quickly:
"Its eyes are blue!" she said.
Joe turned away; the back of his neck was literally crimson.
Ashurst put his finger to the mouth of the little brown bullfrog of a
creature in her arms. How cosy it looked against her!
"It's fond of you already. Ah I Megan, everything is fond of you."
"What was Joe saying to you, please?"
"Telling me to go away, because you didn't want me here."
She stamped her foot; then looked up at Ashurst. At that adoring look
he felt his nerves quiver, just as if he had seen a moth scorching its
wings.
"To-night!" he said. "Don't forget!"
"No." And smothering her face against the puppy's little fat, brown
body, she slipped back into the house.
Ashurst wandered down the lane. At the gate of the wild meadow he came
on the lame man and his cows.
"Beautiful day, Jim!"
"Ah! 'Tes brave weather for the grass.
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