Jane-Anne recovered her senses to perceive that a tall young man, in a blazer and white flannel trousers, had picked her up, that two other young men stood by, looking rather amused, and that Gantry Bill was cringing at her feet in evident expectation of the beating his master had promised him, while round about them the broken eggs were drawing maps upon the dusty road.
"Please don't beat him," she said, hastily settling her hat, which had been knocked over her nose. "He didn't mean to knock me down; he was only saying how-do-you-do. He's a great friend of mine, really."
"Lucky beggar," said the young man; "but I don't see why he should show his friendship in such an inconvenient fashion. He must be a tremendous weight to knock you down like that."
The two other young men had discreetly strolled on. Jane-Anne, Gantry Bill and his master stood in the road encircled by broken eggs, and looked at one another. Jane-Anne saw a tall, broad-shouldered young man with a brown face, a very clean brown face that had once been fair. He was not handsome—his nose was too broad and his mouth too big; but he had splendid strong white teeth and merry blue eyes, which, at that moment, looked into her own full of contrition and commiseration.
"I think," he added hastily, "that we are neighbours; don't you live opposite?"
"That's how I knew your dog," Jane-Anne explained. "You leave him alone a great deal."
"I can't take him to lectures."
"I'm sure he'd behave very well. But, as I was saying, you leave him alone and I was sorry for him, and so he sometimes comes and visits me, and we're great friends, aren't we, Gantry Bill?"
"You know his name?" the young man exclaimed.
"Of course. I'm not deaf, and the street is not wide. Oh, dear! whatever shall I do about the eggs?"