"Oh, I don't know about—friends," rejoined Mallender, with rude significance. "I say, old chap, can you get me out of this? I can't stand all this jabbering and jaw!" and totally ignoring the existence of Barbie, he rose unsteadily to his feet, and stumbled down the steps.
"Don't mind him, his head is all wrong still," whispered Tom, "come over as soon as you can, and help us to cheer him a bit. Jessie has been expecting you every day."
"Yes, I know, but it's been such a heavy week with the butter, sixty pounds," throwing out her pretty hands. "I'll come the first spare hour. Hurry, hurry—don't let him drive!" indicating Mallender, who was already in the tum-tum, and had taken up the reins; and Tom justly alarmed instantly dashed out of the verandah and scrambled headlong into the cart.
Three days later, Mrs. Bourne and her lady-help rode over to Bonagherry, and found Jessie and the invalid on the verandah. He looked better, and actually went down to assist the ladies from their ponies. Subsequently he made himself useful at the tea-table in handing cups and cakes. Apparently he had recovered his poise, and his manners!
After tea, Jessie took Mrs. Bourne away to consult with her about a sick calf, and Mallender and Barbie were left alone.
"I'm sure I owe you an apology, Miss Miller," he suddenly began. "I've a sort of blurred idea, that I was extraordinarily rude to you on Sunday. You see, I have had a knock on the head—like what you had the time the old Nizam came down with you, and at times I am a bit foggy."
"I quite understand. Don't think of it, please!"
"But I must. I've thought of it a good deal; on Sunday the drive upset my blessed head, and I hardly knew where I was, or what I was doing."
"Then is the pain so bad?"
"Awful, sometimes; but don't let on to the Beamishes."