“You’re not going to walk,” he said, and in a moment the strong brown arms encompassed her.
She abandoned protest. Somehow he made her feel like a child, and she knew that resistance was useless. It was not a dignified situation, but it appealed to her sense of humour, and as he bore her solidly back along the paths between the hollyhocks she uttered a breathless little laugh.
“What a giant you are!” she said.
“So you’re not angry?” he said.
“Why, no! I am obliged to you. To be quite honest, I rather doubt if I could have walked back without some help.”
“Then it is just as well I am here to carry you,” he rejoined.
There was no sound of voices as he entered the house, and Frances breathed a sigh of thankfulness.
He carried her straight through and up to her room. “I hope you will not attempt that again before you are fit for it,” he said, as he deposited her upon the bed.
“Thank you very much. I hope I shall soon be fit,” said Frances.
He lingered in the doorway, his rugged face in shadow. “I hope you won’t,” he said suddenly and unexpectedly, and in a moment flung away down the passage awkwardly, precipitately, as if he feared he had stayed too long.