But she couldn’t remember how this was to be done; so, picking up the bag in her usual way, went on again. Obviously her way was a very wrong way, for by the time she had reached the end of the lane her fingers were cramped and painful, and her arms ached; and there was the highway, stretching endlessly before her under the hot noonday sun—two miles of it or more. There was no reasonable chance of a taxi, and she knew no one in the neighborhood who might come driving by. There was nothing in sight but a man walking along the road toward her, and that didn’t interest her.
She went on as far as she could, and then stopped under a tree, to rub her stiffening arms.
“I wonder,” she thought, “if I could hide this darned old bag somewhere, and send Joe for it later!”
But her nicest clothes were in it, and the risk was too great. With a resentful sigh she lifted it and stepped out again. The man coming along the road was quite close to her now. She stopped short, and so did he.[Pg 355]
“Lexy!” he shouted, and came toward her on a run, with a wide grin on his sunburned face.
She dropped the bag with a thump, and stood waiting for him. He held out both hands, and she took them.
“Oh, golly!” she cried. “I’m so glad you’ve come, Mr. Houseman!”
“So am I!” he said. “Ever since I got that last letter from you—”
“Last! I only wrote one.”
“Well, I got two,” he told her. “The second one came yesterday, about this doctor, and the roses, you know.”