He looked rather bewildered, as if this view of the proceedings was something entirely novel.
"Oh, come, you know," he said, deprecatingly, "there isn't much harm done."
"Not much! I saw you knock him down as if—as if he were dead!" she said, indignantly. "And you—oh, look at your face!" and she turned her eyes away.
As this was an impossibility, he did the next best thing to it, and put his hand to his cheek and lips.
"I don't think he's hurt much," he said, excusingly, "and I'm not a bit. I think we rather enjoyed it; I know I did," he added, half inaudibly, and with the beginning of a laugh which was smitten dead as she said, with the air of a judge:
"You must be a savage!"
"I—I think I am," he assented, with a rueful air of conviction. "But, all the same, I'm sorry you were here! If I'd known there was a lady looking on I'd have put it off! I'm afraid you've been upset; but don't worry yourself about either of us! Our long-legged friend will be all the better for a little shaking up, and as for me——The dog isn't hurt, is he?"
"I—I don't know," she said.
He came a little nearer, and took the dog from her, noticing that in extending it to him she shrank back, as if his touch would pollute her.
"No; he's all right!" he said, after turning the animal over, and setting him on his legs. "He ought to have some of his ribs broken, but he hasn't! I'm glad of that, poor little beggar," and for the first time his voice softened.