He might have told, her
his name, and then there would have been a pleasant informal
introduction, and they could have talked freely. If he came to
Glenavelin to-morrow, she would have liked to appear as already an
acquaintance of so popular a guest.
But such thoughts did not long hold their place. She was an honest
young woman, and she readily confessed that fluent manners and the air
of the _cavaliere servente_ were things she did not love. Carelessness
suited well with a frayed jacket and the companionship of a hill burn
and two ragged boys. So, comforting her pride with proverbs, she
returned to Glenavelin to find the place deserted save for dogs, and in
their cheering presence read idly till dinner.
CHAPTER IV
AFTERNOON IN A GARDEN
The gardens of Glenavelin have an air of antiquity beyond the dwelling,
for there the modish fashions of another century have been followed with
enthusiasm. There are clipped yews and long arched avenues, bowers and
summer-houses of rustic make, and a terraced lawn fringed with a
Georgian parapet. A former lord had kept peacocks innumerable, and
something of the tradition still survived. Set in the heart of hilly
moorlands, it was like a cameo gem in a tartan plaid, a piece of old
Vauxhall or Ranelagh in an upland vale. Of an afternoon sleep reigned
supreme. The shapely immobile trees, the grey and crumbling stone, the
lone green walks vanishing into a bosky darkness were instinct with the
quiet of ages.
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