'Why should you be grateful to me, sir?'

He shook his head. 'Some things are best left unspoken. Now think.
What would you like to have best in the world?'

Margery made a pretence of reflecting--then fell to reflecting
seriously; but the negative was ultimately as undisturbed as ever:
she could not decide on anything she would like best in the world; it
was too difficult, too sudden.

'Very well--don't hurry yourself. Think it over all day. I ride
this afternoon. You live--where?'

'Silverthorn Dairy-house.'

'I will ride that way homeward this evening. Do you consider by
eight o'clock what little article, what little treat, you would most
like of any.'

'I will, sir,' said Margery, now warming up to the idea. 'Where
shall I meet you? Or will you call at the house, sir?'

'Ah--no. I should not wish the circumstances known out of which our
acquaintance rose. It would be more proper--but no.'

Margery, too, seemed rather anxious that he should not call. 'I
could come out, sir,' she said. 'My father is odd-tempered, and
perhaps--'