“And set every dog and goose to barking and cackling,” declared Miss Frink.
“But I revenged myself on her. I waited till we came to a mossy couch under an apple tree, and then I keeled over.—Look out”—a warning hand toward Millicent—“don’t you cry now. She was the best little sport you ever heard of. I nearly crushed her poor little wing while she and Colonel Duane were getting me up here, and they have filled me with the milk of human kindness and beef tea ever since.”
“It was all Grimshaw’s stupidity,” said Miss Frink. “I put it in his hands and he didn’t order the carriage in time.” Her lips twitched amusedly. “He tried to shift the responsibility, and make out that you preferred to walk; but I X-rayed him. He hadn’t a chance. Did I ever tell you, Hugh, to beware of my X-ray mind?” She regarded him quizzically, admiring his beauty as she always did. “Double-dealing hasn’t a chance with me. I always see directly through it.”
Hugh rearranged his pillows. “Quite a business asset, I should judge,” he returned, and for a minute his complexion matched the hectic hue of Millicent. Why should Miss Frink be boring into him, as it were, with her dark, bright eyes?
“So when Grim got through the account of his pilgrimage, I knew you must have come by Lover’s Lane.” The speaker suddenly turned again upon the young girl with a smiling frown.
“Oh, Miss Frink, I can’t tell you how sorry I am!” Millicent’s hands were clasped.
“Now, be careful,” broke in Hugh. “Remember the size of your handkerchief.”
“I’ll try not to cry,” she responded, her voice teetering, as it were, like a person trying to keep his balance on a tight rope. “I’m so thankful if you’re not vexed with me. I do think now it was awfully stupid; but you know what Farrandale is.”
“Bless me!” said Miss Frink. “Then the child really was trying to hide you!”