She stood stock-still, in plain view if they had looked her way, until presently they unlocked arms, drew a little apart, and had a good long look at each other, and then turned their backs upon that part of the forest and departed slowly.
Whither she was going, Mary did not know. But she went very swiftly and had upon her face the expression of a beautiful female commuter who has arrived at the station just in time to see her train pull out. But this expression changed when she found her path blocked by the diminutive house in which Sam Langham lived, and saw Sam Langham, a look of wonder on his face, rise from his big piazza chair and come toward her.
"Lee and Renier are going to be married," she exclaimed, all out of breath, "and I didn't mean to be such a brute! And I wouldn't have hurt you for anything in the world!"
Sam Langham only looked at her, for he was afraid to speak.
"I'm just an old goose," said Mary humbly, but very bravely, "and I take everything back. And if you meant what you said, Sam, and want to begin all over again, why, don't just stand there and look at me."
And presently she was ashamed of herself for having been so forward, and so she pursued the feelings of shame to their logical conclusion and hid her face.
And now, for the first time, she realized how hard she had worked ever since The Camp was changed into an inn to make it a go, and how much she needed rest and comforting and a masculine executive to lean on.
"Who said," murmured the ecstatic Langham, "that nothing good ever came of liking good things to eat?"
"Sam," said Mary, "I'm so happy I don't care if lunch is burned to a cinder."