"Leave Miss Meg to me," he said. "She's going to stop crying in a minute, and vow that she looks a perfect fright, and must really go to her room and bathe her eyes. And I'm going to tell her that a handkerchief dipped in a teaspoonful of milk and dabbed on red eyes is more refreshing and healing than a bucketful of cold water. Then we'll have tea, and eke a stroll on the moor, and perchance Providence will send us a quiet hour in which to look at facts squarely in the face, whereupon some of us will know just where we are, and the world will not be quite so topsy-turvy as it appears at this moment."
Betty gathered that the "master's" harangue was not meant for her, and withdrew, whereupon Marguérite dropped her hands and lifted her swimming eyes to Armathwaite's grave and kindly face.
"Is that milk recipe of yours really intended for use?" she inquired, with a piteous attempt at a smile.
"The whole program has been carefully planned on the most up-to-date and utilitarian lines," he answered.
"Did you hurt Walker?" was her next rather unexpected question, while pouring some milk into a saucer.
"Yes."
"I'm glad."
"How many boxes of chocolates did he send you?"
"About half a dozen."
"Then I kicked him at least once for each box—gave good measure, too."