"
She acknowledged my compliment by a curtsey, which reminded me again of
the village school. "Thank you, young man," she said smartly; "I wonder
who you are?"
"Try if you can recollect me," I suggested.
"May I take a long look at you?"
"As long as you like."
She studied my face, with a mental effort to remember me, which gathered
her pretty eyebrows together quaintly in a frown.
"There's something in his eyes," she remarked, not speaking to me but to
herself, "which doesn't seem to be quite strange. But I don't know his
voice, and I don't know his beard." She considered a little, and
addressed herself directly to me once more. "Now I look at you again, you
seem to be a gentleman. Are you one?"
"I hope so."
"Then you're not making game of me?"
"My dear, I am only trying if you can remember Gerard Roylake."
While in charge of the boat, the miller's daughter had been rowing with
bared arms; beautiful dusky arms, at once delicate and strong. Thus far,
she had forgotten to cover them up. The moment mentioned my name, she
started back as if I had frightened her--pulled her sleeves down in a
hurry--and hid the objects of my admiration as an act of homage to
myself! Her verbal apologies followed.
"You used to be such a sweet-spoken pretty little boy," she said, "how
should I know you again, with a big voice and all that hair on your
face?" It seemed to strike her on a sudden that she had been too
familiar.
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