The boy lifted himself again with a slow, ungainly movement, and raised a hand to his forehead in wholly unexpected salute.
She smiled and turned to depart, but he spoke again, arresting her.
"I say!"
She looked back. "Yes? What is it?"
He shuffled his bare feet in the grass in embarrassment and murmured something she could not hear.
"What is it?" she said again, encouragingly, as if she were addressing a shy child.
He lifted his dark eyes to hers in sudden appeal. "I say," he said, with obvious effort, "if—if you meet Dicky, you—you won't tell him about—about—"
She checked the struggling words with a very kindly gesture. "Oh, no, of course not! I'm not that sort of person. But the next time you want to get rid of me, just come and tell me so, and I'll go away at once."
The gentleness of her speech uttered in that soft slow voice of hers had a curious effect upon her hearer. To her surprise, his eyes filled with tears.
"I shan't want to get rid of you! You're kind! I like you!" he blurted forth.