"I seen you last night, but you dedn' see me," she said, changing the
conversation with abruptness.
"Yes, I did," he answered, "sitting under the shadow of the lighthouse,
waiting for Mr. Tregenza, I expect."
"An' you never took no note o' me!"
He flung down his brushes, turned away from the picture before he had
touched it, and went and lay near the edge of the cliff.
"Come here, Joan, and I will tell you why I didn't notice you, though I
longed to do so. Come and sit down by me and I'll explain why I seemed so
rude."
She came slowly and sat down some distance from him, putting her elbows on
her knees and looking away to sea.
"'Tweern't kind," she said, "but when you'm with other folks, I s'pose
you'm ashamed o' me 'spite what you tawld me 'bout yourself."
"You mustn't say that, Joan, or you'll make me unhappy. Ashamed of you! Is
it likely I'm ashamed of the only friend I've got in the world? No, I'm
frightened of losing you; I'm selfish; I couldn't make you known to any
other man because I should be afraid you'd like him better than me, and
then I should have no friend at all. So I wouldn't speak and reveal my
treasure to anybody else. I'm very fond of my friend, and very proud of
her, and as greedy as a miser over his gold."
Joan took a long breath before this tremendous assertion. He had told her
in so many words that he was fond of her; and he had mentioned it most
casually as a point long since decided.
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