Page:The White Peacock, Lawrence, 1911.djvu/319

Rh “You’re too good-hearted to do anybody any harm.”

“I believe I am. You know me a bit, you do, Meg—you don’t think I’m a fool now, do you?”

“I’m sure I don’t—who does?”

“No—you don’t—I know you don’t. Gi’e me a kiss—thou’rt a little beauty, thou art—like a ripe plum! I could set my teeth in thee, thou’rt that nice—full o’ red juice”—he playfully pretended to bite her. She laughed, and gently pushed him away.

“Tha likest me, doesna ta?” he asked softly.

“What do you want to know for?” she replied, with a tender archness.

“But tha does—say now, tha does.”

“I should a’ thought you’d a’ known, without telling.”

“Nay, but, I want to hear thee.”

“Go on,” she said, and she kissed him.

“But what should you do if I went to Canada and left you?”

“Ah~you wouldn’t do that.”

“But I might—and what then?”

“Oh, I don’t know what I should do. But you wouldn’t do it, I know you wouldn’t—you couldn’t.” He quickly put his arms round her and kissed her, moved by the trembling surety of her tone:

“No, I wouldna—I’d niver leave thee—tha’d be as miserable as sin, shouldna ta, my duck?”

“Yes,” she murmured.

“Ah,” he said, “tha’rt a warm little thing—tha loves me, eh?”

“Yes,” she murmured, and he pressed her to him, and kissed her, and held her close.