"I beg your pardon, sir, but no strangers are admitted here."
"I beg your pardon"—I began; and with that, as I shifted my walking-stick, my foolish ankle gave way, and plump I sat in the very middle of the bindweed.
"You are ill?" She came quickly towards me, but halted a pace or two off. "You look as if you were going to faint."
"I'll try not to," said I. "The fact is, I have just twisted my ankle on the side of Skirrid, and I wished to be told the shortest way to the station."
"I don't believe you can walk; and"—she hesitated a second, then went on defiantly—"we have no carriage to take you."
"I should not think of putting you to any such trouble."
"Also, if you want to reach Aber, there is no train for the next two hours. You must come in and rest."
"But really "—
"I am mistress here. I am Wilhelmina Van der Knoope."
Being by this time on my feet again, I bowed and introduced myself by name. She nodded. The child had a thoughtful face—thoughtful beyond her years—and delicately shaped rather than pretty.