“You need not go, Mr. Atwood,” she said. “It will not be necessary—now.”
“Godfreys! I'd just as soon as not. Ruther, if anything.”
He hurried down to the beach. I was about to follow when a hand touched my arm. I turned, to find a pair of brown eyes, misty but wonderful, looking into mine.
“Thank you,” said Miss Colton.
“Don't mention it.”
“But I shall. It was thoughtful and kind. I had forgotten, or—at least—I took it for granted there was no 'phone here. But you did not forget. It was thoughtful, but—it was like you.”
I was breathing hard. I could not look at her.
“Don't,” I said, roughly. “It was nothing. Anyone with common sense would have thought of it and done it, of course.”
“I did not. But you—Oh, it was like you! Always some one else and never yourself. You were worn out. You must have been, after—” with a shudder—“last night. Oh, I have so much to thank you for! I—”
“Come on! Heave ahead!” It was Mr. Atwood, bellowing from the beach. “All aboard for Wellmouth and pints alongshore.”