“You should not have burdened yourself with that too,” he added. “You place me under a heavy obligation to you which will leave me always indebted.”
“My dear sir,” Major Stotford interrupted, “you are in no sense under an obligation to me; please disabuse your mind of that idea.”
He cut short further expressions of gratitude by advancing to the sofa and shaking hands with Prudence, who, as if desirous of atoning for the general lack of warmth, gave him both her hands on a simple girlish impulse. He took and held them with no show of surprise.
“Thank you so much,” she said, a soft appeal in eyes and voice which he was quick to note. “I just want to say how much I enjoyed the drive and your kind care of me. I’m very grateful to you.”
“You are setting such a premium on ordinary courtesy that I begin to believe it must be a rare quality in these parts,” he said jestingly, with what sounded to Prudence a faintly sarcastic humour. He had assuredly not been given particular evidence of the quality beneath that roof. “But if you insist on regarding my small service so graciously I do not feel inclined to quarrel with you on that score. I can only repeat that I am glad I happened to be on the spot. Good-bye. Take care of the ankle. It will tax your patience, I expect.”
Mr Graynor accompanied him into the hall, and invited him into the library for refreshment, which he declined. Prudence listened to their voices outside, listened to the motor drive away, and turned with a face pale with indignation, when her father re-entered the room, and reproached him with having displayed so little gratitude to a man who had acted with such ready kindliness towards her.
“I felt ashamed,” she said. “You were barely civil.”
“You forget yourself, Prudence,” Agatha said. “Father was quite civil. There was no need to gush—you did that.”
“And if I did,” Prudence cried, exasperated, “you two forced me into doing so.”
Mr Graynor had crossed to the window, where he remained with his back towards the room, paying little heed to their wrangling.