“I’m sorry, Miss Solway,” said Ross again.
Didn’t she see how that fellow was watching her? It was torment to Ross. There was not a shadow on her bright face; she stood there, gay, careless, perfectly indifferent to the silent Donnelly.
“All right!” she said, and turned away, then, to open the door. But it was heavy for her small fingers, and Donnelly hastened forward.
“Excuse me, miss!” he said, and pushed back the door for her.
“Oh, thanks!” she said, smiling into his face, and off she went, running through the rain across the sodden lawn. Ross looked after her; so little, so young.
“And that’s Miss Solway!” said Donnelly, speculatively.
Ross glanced at him, and his heart gave a great leap. For, on the other’s face, was an unmistakable look of perplexity.
“Yes,” he said, “that’s Miss Solway.”
“She’s pretty young, isn’t she?” Donnelly pursued, still following with his eyes the hurrying little figure.
“I suppose so,” said Ross, casually. It was difficult for him to conceal his delight. Donnelly was evidently at a loss; he couldn’t believe ill of that girl with her careless smile. He thought she was too young, too light-hearted. The very fact of her ignoring Ross’s warning had done this for her. If she had understood, if across her smiling face had come that look Ross had seen, that look of terror and dismay, Donnelly would not have thought her too young.