And then I saw that
I was right, and that the flowers in his button-hole were
hose-in-hose.
As I came in he laid down the paper, took the hose-in-hose out of his
button-hole in his left hand, and held out his right hand to me,
saying: "I'm more accustomed to public speaking than to private
speaking, Miss Mary. But--will you be friends with me?"
In Mary's Meadow my head had got all confused, because I was
frightened. I was not frightened to-day, and I saw the whole matter in
a moment. He had found the double cowslips, and he knew now that I was
neither a liar nor a thief. I was glad, but I could not feel very
friendly to him. I said, "You can speak when you are angry."
Though he was behind me, I could feel Father coming nearer, and I
knew somehow that he had taken out his glass again to rub it and put
it back, as he does when he is rather surprised or amused. I was
afraid he meant to laugh at me afterwards, and he can tease terribly,
but I could not have helped saying what came into my head that morning
if I had tried. When you have suffered a great deal about anything,
you cannot sham, not even politeness.
The Old Squire got rather red. Then he said, "I am afraid I am very
hasty, my dear, and say very unjustifiable things. But I am very
sorry, and I beg your pardon.
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