said, still standing on the hearthrug with his back to the fire, coatless, looking with curious directness at the woman. Her self-possession pleased him and inspired him, set him curiously free. It seemed to him almost brutal to feel so master of himself and of the situation.

Her eyes rested on him for a moment, questioning, as she thought of the meaning of his speech.

“No,” she said, understanding. “No — it is strange.”

“You find it middlin' rough?” he said.

Her eyes waited on him, so that he should say it again.

“Our ways are rough to you,” he repeated.

“Yes — yes, I understand. Yes, it is different, it is strange. But I was in Yorkshire —