"Hiding?" said Peter, who turned to Kit. "That was wrong."
"It was wrong," Kit admitted. "I told Mr. Osborn so. In fact, I must have lost my head when I made a mistake like this. Since I had the honor of Miss Osborn's acquaintance—"
"Who presented you to my daughter?" Osborn interrupted.
"Nobody," Kit admitted, with some embarrassment. "The day the otter hounds were hunting the alder pool Miss Osborn wanted to cross the stepping stones. Some of them were covered and I—"
"Ah!" said Osborn. "Then the thing began as long since as that?" He turned to Peter. "The girl is young and foolishly proud of being unconventional, or she would have known that she could make use of your son's help without an obligation to speak to him again. It's obvious that he has worked on her rebellious humor until she forgot what is due to herself and her parents."
"Stop a bit," said Peter. "She was doing her parents no discredit by speaking to my son."
"No discredit!" Osborn exclaimed, losing his self control. "When I find her and the fellow skulking out of sight, like a farm hand and a dairy-maid!"
Kit raised his head and his eyes sparkled. "In a sense, I am a farm hand; but it would be better if you kept your hard words for me."
"There are verra good dairymaids; modest, hardworking lasses,"
Peter remarked.
"It's rather late to play the part of a rustic cavalier, if that is what you meant," Osborn said to Kit with a sneer, and then turned to Peter. "I am forced to own that the girl deserves some blame. Although she's impulsive and unconventional, she ought to have seen it was ridiculous to let your son imagine they could be friends."