“No, no. Don’t—please don’t do that. Of course I was wrong—unpardonably wrong, I suppose—but you looked so young, and—well, so adorable, that I—— Oh, please don’t hate me!”
His gloom was so profound that, in spite of herself, she felt her wrath begin to melt.
“If you’re sure you’re very sorry——”
“I’m in the dust,” he evaded.
“Then—all right.” She smiled a little, but with caution—he should not be allowed to think himself too easily restored to favor. “I frightened you, didn’t I? And you ought to have been frightened. But to show you I trust you now, I’ll use your arm as a crutch. Come on. Oh, what a delicious sight for poor Aunty Landis!”
Truly enough, the spectacle brought to her feet a motherly-looking woman who had been knitting on the porch of White Cottage.
“Good gracious, child! What’s the matter?” She fluttered down the steps to meet the bedraggled adventurers. “Have you hurt yourself, dearie? Oh, dear, dear! What is it? Have you broken your leg?”
“I’m all right, Aunty. Don’t worry. My ankle might be turned a little, that’s all. This gentleman has been very kind to me, and helped me home.”
The woman made Fessenden a spasmodic bow. “I’m sure we’re much obliged to you, sir. Is it your ankle, dearie? I told you not to go in wading. The idea of such a thing, and you a young lady!”
“Now, Aunty, please don’t scold me—not until my foot’s fixed, at any rate.”