“No cause for fright, Miss Adgate,” said the young chap. He proffered a hand to steady her. “I'm afraid I gave you a terrible scare,” he added, apologetic, and he looked at her with concern, “but that was better than the bite. You're quite white; sit down a moment. You'll soon feel better.”
Ruth covered her face with her hands.
“Thank God!” she said, with an involuntary shudder, but she did not sit down.
“Are there many of those creatures in the woods?” she asked, but she felt ashamed of her weakness.
“No, especially not at this time of year. The warm sun brought this one out. You should never walk about here in low shoes, though, Miss Adgate.”
“You know my name,” Ruth said, surprised.
“I take it for granted you're General Adgate's niece, having a walk through your woods. The whole town knows you arrived last night,” answered the young man, with a bow, smiling at her.
His smile was pleasant, he looked at her with friendly interest. In shabby tweeds and a pair of leggings, a game-bag slung over his shoulder, he was evidently out for a day's shooting.
“Don't think I'm a trespasser, though I can't show you my permit. But your uncle and I are old friends,” he vouchsafed. “I'm privileged, I must tell you, to shoot here when I like. In fact, I rather fancy the quail you sat down to at supper last night was the product of my game-bag.”
It occurred to Ruth that this remark came somehow with bad taste—the speaker's eyes shone, however, with so kindly a light she hadn't the heart to resent it.