"Certain of what?" He didn't turn around.

She bristled at his rudeness. "Certain that you don't want to join me for lunch."

"Quite."

That got her attention. No one had ever before told her that he was quite certain he could do without her company.

Belle sat uncomfortably on her blanket, her copy of The Winter's Tale lying limply in her lap. There didn't seem to be anything she could say with his back half to her. And it would have been impolite to start reading again.

John suddenly turned around and cleared his throat.

"It was really too bad of you to tell me I need spectacles," she said abruptly, mostly just to get something in before he could.

"I apologize. I've never been very good at polite conversation."

"Perhaps you should converse more," she retorted.

"Were you using a different tone of voice, my lady, one might suspect that you were flirting with me."

She slammed The Winter's Taleshut and stood. "I can see that you were not lying. You are not dreadful at merely polite conversation. You are lacking at all forms of it."

He shrugged. "One of my many qualities."

Her mouth fell open.

"I can see that you do not subscribe to my particular brand of humor."

"1 cannot imagine that many people do."

There was a pause, and then a strange, sad light appeared in his eyes. It disappeared just as quickly, and the tone of his voice sharpened as he said, "Don't come out here alone again."

Belle shoved her belongings into her satchel.

"Don't worry. I shan't trespass again."

"I didn't say you couldn't come on my property. Just don't do it alone."

She had no idea how to reply to that so she merely said, "I'm going home."

He glanced up at the sky. "Yes. You probably should. It's going to rain soon. I've two or so miles to walk home myself. I shall certainly be drenched."

She glanced around. "Didn't you bring a horse?"