"I am sorry to hear you say that," he replied. And then there was an awkward silence.
Elsie could think of nothing better than to refer to the handkerchief they had left behind.
"Will you wait for me till I run and get it?" he asked.
"I will go back with you, if you will permit me," she said timidly.
"Indeed, I could not ask so much of you as that."
"And yet you could about the same as risk your neck to gratify a whim of mine," she said more gratefully than she intended.
"Please do not think," he replied earnestly, "that I have been practicing cheap heroics. As I said, I was a country boy, and in my early home thought nothing of doing such things." But even the brief reference to that vanished home caused him to sigh deeply, and Elsie gave him a wistful look of sympathy.
For a few moments they walked on in silence. Then Mr. Stanhope turned, and with some hesitation said:
"Miss Alford, I did very wrong to stay after—after last evening. But my better judgment was borne down by invitations so cordial that I hardly knew how to resist them. At the same time I now realize that I should have done so. Indeed, I would go away at once, would not such a course only make matters worse. And yet, after receiving so much kindness from your family, more than has blessed me for many long years—for since my dear mother died I have been quite alone in the world—I feel I cannot go away without some assurance or proof that you will forgive me for being such a kill-joy in your holiday."
Elsie's vexation with herself now knew no bounds. She stopped in the path, determining that she would clear up matters, cost what it might.