Chapter 8 - Page 2

in
the presence of the Baron.

'Never mind, never mind,' said he, masking under a severe manner
whatever he felt. 'The meeting is awkward, and ought not to have
occurred, especially if as I suppose, you are shortly to be married
to James Hayward. But it cannot be helped now. You had no idea I
was here, of course. Neither had I of seeing you. Remember you
cannot be too careful,' continued the Baron, in the same grave tone;
'and I strongly request you as a friend to do your utmost to avoid
meetings like this. When you saw me before I turned, why did you not
go away?'

'I did not see you, sir. I did not think of seeing you. I was
walking this way, and I only looked in to see the tree.'

'That shows you have been thinking of things you should not think
of,' returned the Baron. 'Good morning.'

Margery could answer nothing. A browbeaten glance, almost of misery,
was all she gave him. He took a slow step away from her; then turned
suddenly back and, stooping, impulsively kissed her cheek, taking her
as much by surprise as ever a woman was taken in her life.

Immediately after he went off with a flushed face and rapid strides,
which he did not check till he was within his own boundaries.

The haymaking season now set in vigorously, and the weir-hatches were
all drawn in the meads to drain off the water. The streams ran
themselves dry, and there was no longer any difficulty in walking
about among them. The Baron could very well witness from the
elevations about his house the activity which followed these
preliminaries. The white shirt-sleeves of the mowers glistened in
the sun, the scythes flashed, voices echoed, snatches of song floated
about, and there were glimpses of red waggon-wheels, purple gowns,
and many-coloured handkerchiefs.

The Baron had been told that the haymaking was to be followed by the
wedding, and had he gone down the vale to the dairy he would have had
evidence to that effect. Dairyman Tucker's house was in a whirlpool
of bustle, and among other difficulties was that of turning the
cheese-room into a genteel apartment for the time being, and hiding
the awkwardness of having to pass through the milk-house to get to
the parlour door. These household contrivances appeared to interest
Margery much more than the great question of dressing for the
ceremony and the ceremony itself. In all relating to that she showed
an indescribable backwardness, which later on was well remembered.

'If it were only somebody else, and I was one of the bridesmaids, I
really think I should like it better!' she murmured one afternoon.

'Away with thee--that's only your shyness!' said one of the
milkmaids.

It is said that about this time the Baron seemed to