She looked at him in amazement; then her lips began to curl.
“Why, Mr. Ellery!” she repeated.
The minister turned very red and drew his hand across his forehead.
“I—I don't mean that exactly,” he stammered. “But I'm not a child. I have the right to exercise a man's discretion. My parish committee must understand that. They shall! If I choose to see you—Look out!”
She was close to the overhanging edge of the bluff and the sod upon which she stood was bending beneath her feet. He sprang forward, caught her about the waist, and pulled her back. The sod broke and rattled down the sandy slope. She would have had a slight tumble, nothing worse, had she gone with it. There was no danger; and yet the minister was very white as he released her.
She, too, was pale for a moment, and then crimson.
“Thank you,” she gasped. “I—I must go. It is late. I didn't realize how late it was. I—I must go.”
He did not answer, though he tried to.
“I must go,” she said hurriedly, speaking at random. “Good afternoon. Good-by. I hope you will enjoy your walk.”
“I have enjoyed it.” His answer was unstudied but emphatic. She recognized the emphasis.