“As you have come so far,” her voice said, clearly and sharply, “I suppose you must have seen that some one was here.”
“What is the matter?” shouted Valentine.
“How do I know what is the matter?” queried Polly, irritably. “I’m all crumpled up, and I think I’m broken all over.”
Valentine smiled to himself.
There was not much real hurt, he was now assured; nevertheless, he feared she might have sprained herself in some way.
He moved cautiously toward her, and he heard her laughing softly to herself as he plunged wildly from one piece of treacherous seaweed to another.
He certainly was not a figure of grace at this moment.
As he came quite close to her he spoke in his natural voice, and Polly gave a great start. She recognized him then. Before he had seemed to her one of the few strangers she had caught sight of from her window.
“I hope it is not so bad as that,” Valentine said.
“Oh,” she hurried to reply, “I am not really hurt at all. I—I just slipped, and somehow I managed to get my left arm wedged in here, and I can’t move it very easily. I also twisted my foot. How d’ye do, Mr. Ambleton?” she finished, demurely.