“A great deal. You are in trouble, and alone upon the highway. I repeat, ’tis a great deal to me, as it would be to any man to find a woman so situated.”
“Thee must give me thy pardon, friend. Methought the query was prompted by idle curiosity. By a great oversight my driver forgot to put his box of tools in the wagon, so that when the accident occurred he was obliged to ride on to the next tavern for help. I doubt not but that he will return soon.”
“But the distance to the next tavern is six miles. It was unwise to leave you here alone upon the road. Do you not know that these highways are not safe?”
“I have seen no one; nor hath any spoke with me before this. I fear naught.”
“But it should not be,” he said with decision. “Peggy, do you think that your mother——”
“Mother would be pleased to offer the friend a seat in the calash, Robert.” Peggy unfastened her riding mask as she spoke, and turned toward the Quakeress warmly. “I am Margaret Owen,” she said. “And this is Major Dale, of the army. My mother is just beyond yon bend of the road in her coach. She will be charmed to have thy company to the next inn, and farther if thee wishes.”
“And I am Truelove Davis,” returned the other, acknowledging the introductions with the briefest of bows. She did not remove her mask, Peggy noted with surprise, but she was conscious that the girl was regarding her intently. “Perchance,” continued the newcomer, “perchance it would not be agreeable to thy mother to do this charity.”
“Nay, it is thou, friend, that dost lack charity, to suppose any one unwilling to do so simple a kindness.” Peggy’s voice reflected her pained amazement. Friends usually accepted such favors with the same simplicity of spirit in which they were offered.