For the next few days Joanna avoided Mr. Pratt; she could not tell why
her munificence should make her dislike him, but it did. One day as she
was walking through Pedlinge she saw him standing in the middle of the
road, talking to a young man whom on approach she recognized as Martin
Trevor, the Squire's second son. She could not get out of his way, as
the Pedlinge dyke was on one side of the road and on the other were some
cottages. To turn back would be undignified, so she decided to pass them
with a distant and lordly bow.

Unfortunately for this, she could not resist the temptation to glance at
Martin Trevor--she had not seen him for some time, and it was surprising
to meet him in the middle of the week, as he generally came home only
for week-ends. That glance was her undoing--a certain cordiality must
have crept into it, inspired by his broad shoulders and handsome,
swarthy face, for Mr. Pratt was immediately encouraged, and pounced. He
broke away from Trevor to Joanna's side.

"Oh, Miss Godden ... so glad to meet you. I--I never thanked you
properly last week for your generosity--your munificence. Thought of
writing, but somehow felt that--felt that inadequate.... Mr. Trevor,
I've told you about Miss Godden ... our harmonium ..."

He had actually seized Joanna's hand. She pulled it away. What a
wretched undersized little chap he was. She could have borne his
gratitude if only he had been a real man, tall and dark and straight
like the young fellow who was coming up to her.

"Please don't, Mr. Pratt. I wish you wouldn't make all this tedious
fuss."