"How do you do, Mr. Garrott!... I—I'm very glad to see you back!"
"Why—Miss Flower!"
Sheer surprise had halted him in his tracks, and the self-propelling runabout, which had been almost stationary all along, became entirely so, right at the curb.
"When did you get home?" Miss Flower was finishing, laughing, a becoming color in her cheeks.
"I'm just in—this minute! How are you? I—ah—didn't realize at all that it was you." He had taken the small hand she offered, momentarily flustered, despite all effort, by the utterly sudden re-meeting. He was aware that the girl looked a little conscious, too. But something in her gaze seemed to be trying to tell him that bygones were bygones now; and she went on with reassuring naturalness:—
"I hope you had a nice holiday? I've wanted very much to see you, and thank you myself. About Wallie, I mean—your offering to teach him—"
"Oh!—Why, that!"
"It was really the nicest thing. I—haven't seen you since, but you don't know how much I—we all appreciated—"
With recovered poise the young man easily brushed aside these thanks. "But I'm awfully glad," he added, "that he didn't wait for me, after all."
"Oh!" she exclaimed. "You heard, then?"