Almost before the words were out of her lips a stalwart form leaped the hedge, and stood before her.
Doris started and her face flushed; then, pale and composed, she lifted her eyes to his.
“Well, now!” he said, in humble apology, “I seem fated to startle you, Miss Marlowe. I had no idea you were here——” he stopped, awed to silence by her silence.
“You said you would come for it in the afternoon,” she remarked, almost coldly.
He colored.
“Yes, I know; but I could not come this afternoon, and I thought——” he stopped, and raised his frank eyes to her face, pleadingly.
“You thought?” she said very gravely, her brows drawn together slightly.
“Well,” he said, as if with an effort, “I will tell the truth! I thought that if I came this morning I might meet you. It was just a chance. Are you angry?”
She was silent a moment. Was she angry? She felt that she ought to be; and had a suspicion that he had, so to speak, entrapped her into a meeting with him; and she honestly tried to be angry.
“It does not matter,” she said, at last, very coldly. “There is your handkerchief.”