"No more than he ought to, if he expects to trust you with all HIS
affairs," said the girl shortly; "but you had better tell him you have
changed your mind at once, before he makes any further calculations on
your staying. He's just over the hill there, with mother."

She turned away coldly as she spoke, but moved slowly and in the
direction of the hill, although she took a less direct trail than
the one she had pointed to him. But he followed her, albeit still
embarrassedly, and with that new sense of respect which had checked his
former surliness. There was her strong, healthy, well-developed
figure moving before him, but the modish gray dress seemed to give its
pronounced outlines something of the dignity of a goddess. Even the firm
hands had the distinguishment of character.

"You understand," he said apologetically, "that I mean no discourtesy to
your father or his offer. And"--he hesitated--"neither is my reason what
you would infer."

"Then what is it?" she asked, turning to him abruptly. "You know you
have no other place when you leave here, nor any chance as good as the
one father offers you. You are not fit for any other work, and you know
it. You have no money to speculate with, nor can you get any. If you
could, you would have never stayed here."

He could not evade the appalling truthfulness of her clear eyes. He
knew it was no use to lie to her; she had evidently thoroughly informed
herself regarding his past; more than that, she seemed to read his
present thoughts. But not all of them! No! he could startle her still!
It was desperate, but he had nothing now to lose. And she liked the
truth,--she should have it!