"Good-morning," he said with his heart beating as absurdly as if the encounter were of the highest consequence.
"Good-morning, Mr. Wynne," she responded, with a manner entirely abstract.
She had started and blushed, he was sure, on perceiving him; but if so she had instantly recovered her self-possession. He was disconcerted by the coldness of her manner, and began to wish in complete earnest that he had not overtaken her.
"I beg your pardon for intruding," he said, his voice hardening, "but"—
"The public street is free to anybody, I suppose," she returned, with an air of studied politeness. "I don't claim any exclusive right to it."
"I didn't apologize for being on the street, but for speaking to you."
"Oh, that," answered Berenice carelessly, although he thought that he detected a spark of mischief in her eye, "is a thing of so little consequence that it isn't worth mentioning."
"I venture to speak to you," he said, ignoring the thrust, "because I have wanted to beg your pardon for my rudeness when I saw you last."
She turned upon him quickly, her cheeks aflame.
"Your rudeness?" she exclaimed. "Your brutality, I think you mean!"