"You are a bluff," Angus told him, "and you know it as well as I do. Get out!"
When horse and rider were indistinct, Angus turned to Alice Page.
"You saw him—kiss me, Angus?" she said.
"Yes," he admitted, "but I didn't mean to. I had words with him to-night, and I was waiting till you would go past, but you stopped right in front of me."
"I'm very glad you were there. I don't want you to think I am the sort of girl who is kissed by moonlight."
"I'd never think that," Angus said. "I think you are the finest girl in the world."
She stared at him in amazement, as much at his tone as at the words.
"Why, Angus!" she exclaimed.
"I do," he asseverated, "the very finest! I've wanted to tell you so, but I hadn't the nerve. I—I think an awful lot of you."
So there it was at last, blurted out with boyish clumsiness.