He drew a long breath, and his eyes sought her face penitently.
“It was abominably careless of me,” he said in a low voice. “But I had no idea that there was any one here; I didn’t think of looking over the hedge.”
“It is a very high one,” she said, and her lips quivered with a little shudder, as she recalled the moment in which she saw him fall.
He glanced at it carelessly.
“Polly would have done it if it hadn’t been for the brook! I’d forgotten that there might be a drop this side, and——” He stopped short, his eyes fixed upon her dress, upon which were two or three red spots staining its whiteness. He put his hand to his head. “Your dress!” he said. “Look there! I’ve spoiled it!”
She looked down at the stains—they were still wet—and felt for her handkerchief. It was lying on the grass.
“Will you let me?” he said pleadingly, and he took out his own handkerchief and tried to wipe out the spots.
“Never mind,” she said. “It does not matter.”
“And your hat and book!” He picked them up and glanced at the latter. “‘Romeo and Juliet!’ You were reading! What a nuisance I have made of myself. I shall never forgive myself nor forget your kindness! If you hadn’t been here——” he stopped.
She seemed to be scarcely listening to him.