She spoke first.
“Mr Walton, I was very rude to you. I beg your pardon.”
“Indeed, I did not think so. I only thought what a blundering awkward fellow I was to startle you as I did. You have to forgive me.”
“I fancy”—and here I know she smiled, though how I know I do not know—“I fancy I have made that even,” she said, pleasantly; “for you must confess I startled you now.”
“You did; but it was in a very different way. I annoyed you with my rudeness. You only scattered a swarm of bats that kept flapping their skinny wings in my face.”
“What do you mean? There are no bats at this time of the year.”
“Not outside. In ‘winter and rough weather’ they creep inside, you know.”
“Ah! I ought to understand you. But I did not think you were ever like that. I thought you were too good.”
“I wish I were. I hope to be some day. I am not yet, anyhow. And I thank you for driving the bats away in the meantime.”
“You make me the more ashamed of myself to think that perhaps my rudeness had a share in bringing them.—Yours is no doubt thankless labour sometimes.”