"Are you hurt, Betty?"
"I have twisted my ankle," she groaned, her face puckering with pain.
Mark took off her boot and stocking. The ankle was already swollen and inflamed. What a catastrophe! But Betty assured him she could limp home leaning on his arm. They started very slowly and in silence. A brook bubbled in front of them, and at Mark's advice Betty thrust her foot into the cool water.
"What a horrid ending," sighed Betty, on the verge of tears. "This is the punishment. Lanky will do nothing now."
"I should think not," said Mark indignantly. Presently he began to dry her foot with his handkerchief. It lay soft and white in his hand. She was sitting higher up on the bank, so that she looked down upon him.
"I like you better than Archie," she said slowly.
"W-w-why?" he stammered.
"You are so much more—sensible."
"Sensible?"
"Yes. Archie," she blushed faintly, "and that stupid old Jim Corrance say they're in love with me! Isn't it absurd?"