“Very well,” I said to myself, “if he likes to sulk, he may; I won’t take any notice of him.”
No word was spoken for at least a mile. Alaska trotted steadily on, under the leafless beeches, and along the road by the sea, till she at length slackened to walk up a hill.
“Are you cold, Theo?” Willy did not turn his head, but I felt that the olive branch had been extended.
“Not particularly,” I said, as indifferently as possible.
“I put a wrap into the trap for you”—stretching a long arm over the back of the seat, and dragging a cloak from the depths. “You must be perished in that thin coat. Here, let me put this round you.”
He wrapped me in it with unnecessary care, and while he was doing so he said suddenly,
“I’m awfully sorry if I was rude to you. You know that——” His voice broke, and he stopped as suddenly as he had begun. I put up my hand to fasten the cloak for myself, and was rather startled to find it caught and fervently squeezed.
“Oh!” I said, withdrawing my hand sharply, “you were not in the least rude to me. I did not mind a bit. We had a very pleasant day on the whole, I think,” I continued inconsequently; “and did you see how beautifully I behaved to The O’Neill?”
I fancy Willy looked a little disappointed at his apology being disposed of so quickly.
“No, I can’t say I did,” he answered, in an injured way. “I had plenty to do talking to the madam.”