It made him angry, however.
He wanted to catch Matilda alone. Many days went by, and he was not
successful: she avoided him. At last, lurking, he surprised her one day
as she came to pick gooseberries, and he cut off her retreat. He came to
the point at once.
'You don't want me, then?' he said, in his subtle, insinuating voice.
'I don't want to speak to you,' she said, averting her face.
'You put your hand on me, though,' he said. 'You shouldn't have done
that, and then I should never have thought of it. You shouldn't have
touched me.'
'If you were anything decent, you'd know that was a mistake, and forget
it,' she said.
'I know it was a mistake--but I shan't forget it. If you wake a man up,
he can't go to sleep again because he's told to.'
'If you had any decent feeling in you, you'd have gone away,' she
replied.
'I didn't want to,' he replied.
She looked away into the distance. At last she asked:
'What do you persecute me for, if it isn't for the money. I'm old enough
to be your mother. In a way I've been your mother.'
'Doesn't matter,' he said. 'You've been no mother to me. Let us marry and
go out to Canada--you might as well--you've touched me.'
She was white and trembling. Suddenly she flushed with anger.
'It's so _indecent_,' she said.
'How?' he retorted. 'You touched me.'
But she walked away from him. She felt as if he had trapped her.
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