hut, thank you! I only wanted to be able to sit here sometimes, like today. But I can sit perfectly well under the porch, so please say no more about it."
He looked at her again, with his wicked blue eyes.
"Why," he began, in the broad slow dialect. "Your Ladyship's as welcome as Christmas ter th' hut an' th' key an' iverythink as is. On'y this time o' th' year ther's bods ter set, an' Ah've got ter be potterin' abaht a good bit, seein' after 'em, an' a'. Winter time Ah ned 'ardly come nigh th' pleece. But what wi' Spring, an' Sir Clifford wantin' ter start th' pheasants. . . . An' your Ladyship'd non want me tinkerin' around an' about when she was 'ere, all th' time."
She listened with a dim kind of amazement.
"Why should I mind your being here?" she asked.
He looked at her curiously.
"T' nuisance on me!" he said briefly, but significantly. She flushed. "Very well!" she said finally. "I won't trouble you. But I don't think I should have minded at all sitting and seeing you look after the birds. I should have liked it. But since you think it interferes with you, I won't disturb you, don't be afraid. You are Sir Clifford's keeper, not mine."
The phrase sounded queer, she didn't know why. But she let it pass.
"Nay, your Ladyship. It's your Ladyship's own 'ut. It's as your Ladyship likes an' pleases, every time. Yer can turn me off at a wik's notice. It wor only. . ."
"Only what?" she asked, baffled.
He pushed back his hat in an odd comic way.
"On'y as 'appen yo'd like the place ter yersen, when yer did come, an' not me messin' abaht."
"But why?" she said, angry. "Aren't you a civilised human being? Do you think I ought to be afraid of you? Why should I take any notice of you and your being here or not? Why is it important?"
He looked at her, all his face glimmering with wicked laughter.
"It's not, your Ladyship. Not in the very least," he said.
"Well, why then?" she asked.
"Shall I get your Ladyship another key then?"
"No thank you! I don't want it."
"Ah'll get it anyhow. We'd best 'ave two keys ter th' place."
