Philip paused a moment when he reached the grassy bank.
"You're quite sure you wish to walk?" he said.
"I certainly am," she returned with an effort at lightness. "It's the best thing I can do, now that I've been so careless."
He set her down gently, and picked up the cushions with one hand while he put the other under her arm, and they started; but there was no path; the points of granite and the grassy hummocks made difficult walking for sound feet. Phil felt his companion's sudden limps and cringes, the while she was talking valiantly of the satisfaction it was to feel that a little pain didn't matter, so long as one knew that the best thing for a strain was exercise; but all the time it seemed to her that home was miles away, and that this Transgressors' Boulevard would never end.
Phil smiled down at the dark uncovered head so near his shoulder; then as she sank in an unexpected hollow:—
"Pluck is all very well, Kathleen," he said, "but I'm going to pick you up again."
"No, no, Phil! You could never carry me home. I'm much too heavy to be doing these foolish things." Tears of vexation stood in the girl's eyes.
"I needn't carry you home," he returned quietly, "but it is all my fault that you slipped. As soon as we get to level ground you shall try again. Cushions will be safe in Arcadia, I fancy," he added, storing them at the foot of a rock they were passing. "I can come back for them."
"Put this heavy polo coat with them," said Kathleen, trying not to cry. "No need of carrying any more than you have to. Oh, Phil, really! I could hop. Couldn't I hop if you lifted me on one side?"
"We'll hop, skip, and jump when we get on the level," he returned, wrapping the coat carefully about her, and taking her up again.