“There is another thing—won’t you tell me? About the parasol last summer—did you forget it, really—or—or—just leave it?”
“Mortimer!” she cried, flushing furiously. “I didn’t!”
But he assisted her in hiding her face, smiling down benevolently the while.
“Really? Honestly? Truly?” he said, softly.
“I didn’t—I didn’t,” she repeated.
“Didn’t what?” he still persevered.
She looked up at him for a moment, flushed more furiously than before and sought refuge anew. But the muffled reply was perfectly distinguishable to the man.
“I—I—didn’t—forget it.”
[But the Great Head rocks didn’t hear.]
Thus Mortimer Crabb, having spent much of his time in making opportunities for other people, had at last succeeded in making one for himself.