"What sort of a chap is he? Some tourist bounder, I suppose," he condescended to say.
"He isn't a bounder. He has awfully nice hands,—white, and thin, and soft. He's rather pale, with a lot of black hair and a curly beard."
"What a played-out chap to make such a fuss about!" said Ted, turning away contemptuously. "Sounds more like a monkey than anything else. Good-bye. I wish you joy of him!"
"I suppose I'll see you again some time?" she called after him.
"Oh, yes; I suppose so."
"And it was news, wasn't it, Ted?"
"You seem to think so, anyway."
"Poor Ted!" She laughed, and ran indoors. But he had hardly crossed the first field before she had caught him up again, breathless and penitent.
"I didn't mean it, Ted; I didn't, really, old boy. It wasn't news, and he is a monkey, and I'm a horrid pig. Come up after lunch, won't you, Ted? I promise not to talk about him once, and I want to show you something. You will come, Ted, won't you?"
She flung her arms round him in her impulsive way, and gave him one of her rough, playful hugs. But for the first time in his life, Ted shook her off stiffly, and hastened on.