His complexion was dark and forester-like,
seeming to show a poor, unnutritious diet. He was hardly taller than
Vesta. His teeth were good, and the mouth rather small. She thought he
was uncertain what to say, or confused in his mind, though no sign of
fear was visible. Vesta came to his rescue, withdrawing her hand
naturally.
"I have seen you many times, Mr. Milburn, but never here, I think."
"No, miss, I have never been here." He hesitated. "Nor anywhere in
Princess Anne. You are the first lady here to speak to me."
His words, but not his tone, intimated an inferiority or a slight. The
voice was a little stiff, appearing to be at want for some corresponding
inflection, like a man who had learned a language without having had the
use of it.
"Will you sit, Mr. Milburn? You owe this visit so long that you will not
be in haste to-day. I hope you have not felt that we were inhospitable.
But little towns often encourage narrow circles, and make people more
selfish than they intend."
"You could never be selfish, miss," said Milburn, without any of the
suavity of a compliment, still carrying that wild, regarding gaze, like
the eyes of a startled ox.
Vesta faintly colored at the liberty he took. It was slightly
embarrassing to her, too, to meet that uninterpretable look of inquiry
and homage; but she felt her necessity as well as her good-breeding, and
made allowance for her visitor's want of sophistication.
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