Alexa kept hoping that George would be satisfied she was not inclined toward him as she had been; and that, instead of bringing the matter to open issue, he would continue to come and go as the friend of her father. But George came to the conclusion that he ought to remain in doubt no longer, and one afternoon followed her into the garden. She had gone there with a certain half-scientific, half-religious book in her hand, from which she was storing her mind with arguments against what she supposed the opinions of Andrew. She had, however, little hope of his condescending to front them with counter-argument. His voice returned ever to the ear of her mind in words like these: “If you are content to think so, you are in no condition to receive what I have to communicate. Why should I press water on a soul that is not thirsty? Let us wait for the drought of the desert, when life is a low fever, and the heart is dry; when the earth is like iron, and the heavens above it are as brass.”

She started at the sound of George's voice.

“What lovely weather!” he said.

Even lovers betake themselves to the weather as a medium—the side of nature which all understand. It was a good, old-fashioned, hot, heavy summer afternoon, one ill-chosen for love-making.

“Yes?” answered Alexa, with a point of interrogation subaudible, and held her book so that he might feel it on the point of being lifted again to eager eyes. But he was not more sensitive than sentimental.

“Please put your book down for a moment. I have not of late asked too much of your attention, Alexa!”

“You have been very kind, George!” she answered.

“Kind is not asking much of your attention?”

“Yea—that, and giving my father so much of yours.”

“I certainly have seen more of him than of you!” returned George, hoping her words meant reproach. “But he has always been kind to me, and pleased to see me! You have not given me much encouragement!”

To begin love-making with complaint is not wise, and George felt that he had got into the wrong track; but Alexa took care that he should not get out of it easily. Not being simple, he always settled the best course to pursue, and often went wrong. The man who cares only for what is true and right is saved much thinking and planning. He generally sees but one way of doing a thing!

“I am glad to hear you say so, George! You have not mistaken me!”

“You were not so sharp with me when I went away, Alexa!”

“No; then you were going away!”

“Should you not show a fellow some kindness when he is come back?”

“Not when he does not seem content with having come back!”

“I do not understand!”

But Alexa gave no explanation.

“You would be kind to me again if I were going away again?”

“Perhaps.”

“That is, if you were sure I was not coming back.”

“I did not say so.”

“I can't make it out, Alexa! I used to think there could never be any misunderstanding between you and me! But something has crept in between us, and for the life of me I do not know what it is!”

“There is one thing for which I am more obliged to you than I can tell, George—that you did not say anything before you went.”

“I am awfully sorry for it now; but I thought you understood!”

“I did; and I am very glad, for I should have repented it long ago!”

This was hardly logical, but George seemed to understand.

“You are cruel!” he said. “I should have made it the business of my life that you never did!”

Yet George knew of things he dared not tell that had taken place almost as soon as he was relieved from the sustaining and restraining human pressure in which he had grown up!

“I am certain I should,” persisted Alexa.

“Why are you so certain?”

“Because I am so glad now to think I am free.”

“Some one has been maligning me, Alexa! It is very hard not to know where the stab comes from!”

“The testimony against you is from your own lips, George. I heard you talking to my father, and was aware of a tone I did not like. I listened more attentively, and became convinced that your ways of thinking had deteriorated. There seemed not a remnant left of the honor I then thought characterized you!”

“Why, certainly, as an honest man, I can not talk religion like your friend the farmer!”

“Do you mean that Andrew Ingram is not an honest man?” rejoined Alexa, with some heat.

“I mean that I am an honest man.”

“I am doubtful of you.”

“I can tell the quarter whence that doubt was blown!”

“It would be of greater consequence to blow it away! George Crawford, do you believe yourself an honest man?”

“As men go, yes.”

“But not as men go, George? As you would like to appear to the world when hearts are as open as faces?”

He was silent.

“Would the way you have made your money stand the scrutiny of—”

She had Andrew in her mind, and was on the point of saying “Jesus Christ,” but felt she had no right, and hesitated.

“—Of our friend Andrew?” supplemented George, with a spiteful laugh. “The only honest mode of making money he knows is the strain of his muscles—the farmer-way! He wouldn't keep up his corn for a better market—not he!”

“It so happens that I know he would not; for he and my father had a dispute on that very point, and I heard them. He said poor people were not to go hungry that he might get rich. He was not sent into the world to make money, he said, but to grow corn. The corn was grown, and he could get enough for it now to live by, and had no right, and no desire to get more—and would not keep it up! The land was God's, not his, and the poor were God's children, and had their rights from him! He was sent to grow corn for them!”

“And what did your father say to that wisdom?”

“That is no matter. Nor do I profess to understand Mr. Ingram. I only know,” added Alexa, with a little laugh, “that he is consistent, for he has puzzled me all my life. I can, however, see a certain nobility in him that sets him apart from other men!”

“And I can see that when I left I was needlessly modest! I thought my position too humble!”

“What am I to understand by that?”

“What you think I mean.”

“I wish you a good-afternoon, Mr. Crawford!”

Alexa rose and left him.

George had indeed grown coarser! He turned where he stood with his hands in his pockets, and looked after her; then smiled to himself a nasty smile, and said: “At least I have made her angry, and that's something! What has a fellow like that to give her? Poet, indeed! What's that! He's not even the rustic gentleman! He's downright vulgar!—a clod-hopper born and bred! But the lease, I understand, will soon be out, and Potlurg will never let him have it! I will see to that! The laird hates the canting scoundrel! I would rather pay him double the rent myself!”

His behavior now did not put Andrew's manners in the shade! Though he never said a word to flatter Alexa, spoke often in a way she did not at all like, persistently refused to enter into argument with her when most she desired it, yet his every tone, every movement toward her was full of respect And however she strove against the idea, she felt him her superior, and had indeed begun to wish that she had never shown herself at a disadvantage by the assumption of superiority. It would be pleasant to know that it pained him to disapprove of her! For she began to feel that, as she disapproved of George, and could not like him, so the young farmer disapproved of her, and could not like her. It was a new and by no means agreeable thought. Andrew delighted in beautiful things: he did not see anything beautiful in her! Alexa was not conceited, but she knew she was handsome, and knew also that Andrew would never feel one heart-throb more because of any such beauty as hers. Had he not as good as told her she was one of the dead who would not come alive! It would be something to be loved by a man like that! But Alexa was too maidenly to think of making any man love her—and even if he loved her she could not marry a man in Andrew's position! She might stretch a point or two were the lack but a point or two, but there was no stretching points to the marrying of a peasant, without education, who worked on his father's farm! The thing was ridiculous!—of course she knew that!—the very idea too absurd to pass through her idlest thoughts! But she was not going to marry George! That was well settled! In a year or two he would be quite fat! And he always had his hands in his pockets! There was something about him not like a gentleman! He suggested an auctioneer or a cheap-jack!

She took her pony and went for a ride. When she came back, the pony looked elf-ridden.

But George had no intention of forsaking the house—yet, at least. He was bent on humbling his cousin, therefore continued his relations with her father, while he hurried on, as fast as consisted with good masonry, the building of a house on a small estate he had bought in the neighborhood, intending it to be such as must be an enticement to any lady. So long had he regarded everything through the veil of money, that he could not think of Alexa even without thinking of Mammon as well. By this time also he was so much infected with the old man's passion for things curious and valuable, that the idea of one day calling the laird's wonderful collection his own, had a real part in his desire to become his daughter's husband. He would not accept her dismissal as final!