Miss French gave a queer little cry of mingled distaste and appreciation, and Anthony hesitated, lost the thread of his discourse, and stopped.
"How very sweet of you, Patch! No, I mustn't touch it because I'm not allowed dead birds. But I do thank you." She patted the panting head. "Look. Here's a stone I'll throw for you—down into the brook. I'm sure it'll be good for you to wash your mouth." She flung the pebble, and the dog went flying. Valerie turned to Lyveden with a glowing face. "Don't think I'm fishing for another dead bird, but I wish I could feel you'd forgiven me as truly as Patch. Oh, Anthony, I just can't tell you how deadly ashamed I feel, how——"
"My dear girl, you mustn't talk like this. I knew there was some misunderstanding—I didn't know what—and I——"
"I thought you cared for Anne Alison."
"Oh, Valerie…." The wistful reproach of his tone, the sad-faced ghost of a protesting smile hovering about his lips, brought tears to Valerie's eyes. "Well, well…. I'm so glad I'm cleared in your eyes. I'd 've hated you to go through life thinking that I—was like that…." Suddenly he caught at her arm and pointed to the ramshackle bridge. "There's another instance of the rot we're out to stop. Another winter, and that bridge 'd be in the stream, damming it at the deepest and narrowest point. Result, the water's diverted and spreads all over the road, trying to find another way into its channel. No road can stand that, of course. Gradually——"
"Tell me more of yourself," said Valerie.
Anthony let go her arm and put a hand to his head.
"Myself?" he said slowly. "Well, this is my life. I live in the cottage, you know—very simply. It was a wonderful stroke of luck—getting the job. I saw it in the Agony Column."
"Before or after you'd given notice?"
"After. I tell you, I was thankful. And now—I little dreamed what a wonderful billet it was. Living in these beautiful woods, with nothing to——"