Mark grew scarlet. He would have liked to say what Archie and Jim had said, but a lump in his throat made him speechless.
"I feel that you are a real friend," pursued Betty. "Now we must be getting home."
They set out slowly: Betty leaning on Mark's left arm and limping along in silence. Presently Mark became aware that she was leaning more heavily. Then he looked down upon a white, agonised face. They had just reached the small hill whereon The Whim is set. Mark wondered whether he could carry her to the summit of it. A feather-weight, this dainty creature, but Mark was no colossus like Archie. Still, exercise in the gymnasium and elsewhere had hardened his muscles. He bent down, picked her up, and breasted the hill. Her arms were round his neck; his arms held her body. But how heavy she grew with every step upward! How Mark's back and loins and legs ached! How his heart beat! But he reached the front door and set her down. And in the twilight she held up her face and kissed him.
"Now," she commanded, "run home before they open the door."
"Leave you? Not I."
He was proof against persuasion, and simulated anger. The Admiral must hear their misadventure from his lips.
"You obstinate wretch!" said Betty.
When the Admiral did hear the story, some three minutes later, he roared with laughter, although he grew grave enough towards the end, and sent his butler, hot-foot, for the village doctor. Nor was Mark permitted to leave The Whim till that gentleman had pronounced the injury a trifling affair, which time and cold compresses would set right. At parting the Admiral admonished Mark solemnly.
"We must have no larks of this sort, my boy. What! My niece gallivanting about the downs with a lively young man! Miss Hazelby is inexpressibly shocked. A rod has been pickling the whole day, you may swear. And she says that you boys make love to the child. Do you?"
"I'd l-l-like to," said Mark abjectedly, "but I haven't—yet."