They turned and beheld Rutley and Hazel standing in the doorway.
Sam’s chagrin was very great, and conscious of his inability to conceal his disgusted facial expression, turned aside and muttered, “Wouldn’t that fizz you?”
Mrs. Harris was evidently much gratified, for she pointedly remarked, “Your lordship must now concede that our boy was not intentionally rude.”
As for Sam, his vexation was great, and though he discreetly kept silence, the hot blood reddened his face perceptibly. He had unwittingly humbled himself to a man, who, he felt instinctively, was his enemy.
Just what brought Rutley and Hazel to the doorway in time to hear Sam’s expression of thanks was never explained. But it may be presumed he had some announcement to make which the unexpected apology from Sam had made unnecessary.
Its effect on Rutley was instantaneous, for his frigidity melted as snow beneath a summer sun. The monocle came down from his eye and a gracious, condescending smile overspread his face.
“I am very sorry the accident happened, and I beg you to believe I have been deeply concerned about your hurt.”
“We are sure your lordship has suffered great mental anguish over the unfortunate affair,” responded Mrs. Harris, relieved by Rutley’s condescension.
“Late yesterday evening,” he went on, “I received information that a child resembling Dorothy, and accompanied by a lady whose face was veiled, were seen entering a certain residence out near the park,” explained Rutley, continuing. “I beg you to understand that I entertain a deep interest in the fate of the child, and since the river has not yielded up its secret, and the voice of scandal is rife in innuendoes, I immediately set out to investigate.
“Unsuccessful, I had passed along the road and was returning, no doubt at higher speed than justified by the darkness of the night. Absorbed in meditation, I must have temporarily been negligent of proper vigilance, when to my horror, the form of a man suddenly loomed up a few paces directly ahead.”