To his relief he saw that his impression had been correct. She turned to him desperately, like a child seeking consolation.
"Mr. Herrick"—she sobbed out the words—"I'm so miserable—I don't know what to do!"
"Come, that's bad!" He spoke kindly. "Well, suppose you rest here a moment and dry your eyes?"
She fumbled blindly in the front of her gown and then gave up the search with a childish wail.
"I've not got a handkerchief—I've lost it somewhere!"
"Never mind, I have one." He drew out a large silk square as yet unfolded, and pressed it into her hand. "There, use that—and then we'll have a talk."
She dried her eyes obediently, though fresh tears threatened to make her obedience futile; and then, still clinging to his handkerchief, she leaned against the stile and tried to regain her self-control.
"Well?" His tone, with its gentle sympathy, was balm to poor Toni's sore heart. "Come, little lady, what's the trouble? Let's see if we can't find a way out of it together."
She turned her eyes on him as he spoke, and he was almost startled at what he read there; for surely there was a hint of almost womanly suffering in their usually childish depths; and he knew intuitively that this was not the thoughtless, light-hearted girl he had previously known as Toni Rose.
"Mr. Herrick"—she spoke in a low voice, which in spite of all her efforts shook a little—"just now at the Vicarage Bazaar I heard Lady Martin and Mrs. Madgwick talking about me; and they said such terrible things that I think my heart will break!"