He was afraid this sounded priggish. Miss Jardine got up.
“Well, I'm not much of a philosopher and had better put out some of the clothes you brought to dry, although it was thoughtful of you to throw your bag into the bog instead of mine.”
“That was an accident,” Festing declared. “I meant to throw them both across.”
Miss Jardine picked up the sack. “There's nobody else here and a wet evening's dreary. I hope you won't go before I come back.”
“I won't,” said Festing. “They have only a deaf tourist and two tired climbers, who seem sleepy and bad-tempered, at the hotel.”
Miss Jardine's eyes twinkled. “Well,” she said as she went out, “I suppose it's a fair retort.”
Festing colored and looked at Helen apologetically. “You see, I have lived in the woods.”
“I expect that has some advantages,” said Helen, who liked his frank embarrassment. “However, it was lucky I met you to-day. You didn't come back to see us, and there is something——” She hesitated and then gave him a steady glance. “You are not so much a stranger to us as you imagine.”
Festing wondered what she meant and whether she knew about the portrait, but she resumed: “As a matter of fact, my mother and I felt that we knew you rather well.”
“I don't understand.”