“Now we must get back to the pavilion, I suppose,” she said. “My, but we are sights, though! Do let's see if we can't make ourselves a little more presentable.”
She did her best to wipe off the thickest of the clay smears with her handkerchief, but the experiment was rather a failure. As they started to walk back along the beach she suddenly turned to him and said:
“I haven't told you how—how much obliged I am for—for what you did. If you hadn't come, I don't know what would have happened to me.”
“Oh, that's all right,” he answered lightly. He was reveling in the dramatic qualities of the situation. She did not speak again for some time and he, too, walked on in silence enjoying his day dream. Suddenly he became aware that she was looking at him steadily and with an odd expression on her face.
“What is it?” he asked. “Why do you look at me that way?”
Her answer was, as usual, direct and frank.
“I was thinking about you,” she said. “I was thinking that I must have been mistaken, partly mistaken, at least.”
“Mistaken? About me, do you mean?”
“Yes; I had made up my mind that you were—well, one sort of fellow, and now I see that you are an entirely different sort. That is, you've shown that you can be different.”
“What on earth do you mean by that?”