"I couldn't come. It took a long time to tinker me up, and then I tried to go back to my work. It's been rather difficult. The poor beggars think I've got the evil eye or something."
She made him sit down in Tristram's long wicker chair and sent for fresh tea. There was a gentle solicitude in all her movements that was very touching. When she came near him to bring him his cup, he saw there were tears on her lashes.
"Anne—it's awfully sweet of you to be so sorry."
She smiled at him with unsteady lips.
"I don't think I am sorry. It isn't a matter to be sorry about—one can only be very proud."
A boyish flush crept into his cheek.
"There's nothing to be proud of either. I thought perhaps you'd be angry, as the others were."
"Don't you know me better than that? Were the others angry?"
"All of them, pretty well. They talked about the risk. Tristram said I'd endangered their lives."
She considered a moment.