"Yes, I suppose it must seem strange to you," she said, as if she were
following out the lines of her own thoughts. "You must be accustomed to
girls who are so different."
"Yes, they're different," he admitted. "Most of the women I know would
be frightened to death if they were caught in such a rain as this;
would be more than frightened to death if they had to ride down that
hill most of 'em think they've done wonder if they get in at the end of
a run over a fairly easy country; and none of 'em could doctor a sick
sheep to save their lives."
"Yes," she said, dreamily. "I've seen them, but only at a distance. But
I didn't know anything about farming until I came home."
"And do you never go away from here, go to London for a change and get
a dance, and--and all that?" he asked.
She shook her head indifferently.
"No, I never leave the dale. I cannot. My father could not spare me.
Has it left off raining yet?"
She went to the front of the shed and looked out.
"No, it is still pelting; please come back; it is pouring off the roof;
your hair is quite wet again."
She laughed, but she obeyed.
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