“The man!” she cried, “where is that dreadful man?”
“What man?” he asked in some surprise.
“The man who chased you.”
Mr Beveridge laughed aloud, at which Lady Alicia took fresh refuge in her handkerchief.
“He follows on foot,” he replied.
“Did he catch you? Oh, why didn’t you escape altogether?” she sobbed.
Mr Beveridge looked at her with growing interest.
“I had begun to forget my petticoat psychology,” he reflected (aloud, after his unconventional fashion).
“Oh, here he comes,” she shuddered. “All blood! Oh, what have you done to him?”
“On my honour, nothing,—I merely haven’t washed his face.”