“Miss Christie! Pray don’t apologize. Where were you running?”
“I—I was going home,” I stammered in a low voice.
“But that is not the way.” A pause—then very softly—“Were you coming to meet me?”
“N-o,” said I, half crying, and disengaging myself.
It was so humiliating to have been caught running to meet Mr. Reade.
“No? I had hoped you were. For I’ve been running like a race-horse to meet you.”
I said nothing.
“Why did you want to run home so fast alone, when I had promised to come and fetch you?”
“I—I didn’t want to trouble you.”
“That was very kind of you. But, if I happen not to mind the trouble, may I see you home now I am here? Or would you prefer to go alone?”