Ackland was speedily driven back from his walk by the rain, which fact he did not regret, for he found himself exhausted and depressed. Seeking a retired piazza in order to be alone, he sat down with his hat drawn over his eyes and smoked furiously. Before very long, however, he was startled out of a painful revery by a timid voice saying:
"Mr. Ackland, won't you permit me to thank you?"
He rose. Miss Van Tyne stood before him with outstretched hand. He did not notice it, but bowing coldly, said:
"Please consider that you have thanked me and let the subject drop."
"Do not be so harsh with me," she pleaded. "I cannot help it if you are. Mr. Ackland, you saved my life."
"Possibly."
"And possibly you think that it is scarcely worth saving."
"Possibly your own conscience suggested that thought to you."
"You are heartless," she burst out indignantly. He began to laugh.
"That's a droll charge for you to make," he said.
She looked at him steadfastly for a moment, and then murmured: "You are thinking of your friend, Mr. Munson."