One day the girl took herself seriously to task. “I am a fool and worse,” she said. “I must make an end of it. The man does not care a snap of his fingers for me—I’ll try to forget he’s in the world.”
Therefore she refrained from peeping out from behind her blind on the following morning, and, in the afternoon, she locked up the schoolhouse directly the children had left, and proceeded homewards with the exercise-books under her arm. But whether because Postman Chris was more punctual than usual that day, or because Ruby Damory walked slowly, this manœuvre did not have the desired effect, for, strange to say, the postman overtook her on the road.
Ruby had heard him coming, and had made valiant resolution not to look round, but when he came up with her she could not resist turning towards him, and their eyes met.
“Did you speak?” said Postman Chris.
“No—I—I—” She stopped short; her heart was thumping so violently, indeed, that she could scarcely breathe.
“I thought you might have a letter for me,” she murmured at last, in the frantic endeavour to cover her confusion.
“Not I,” said the postman.
He made as if he would pass on, but wheeled round again. “What have you been doing to yourself?” he asked sharply.
“I? Oh, nothing.”
“Ye bain’t half the maid ye was,” insisted Chris, eyeing her with severe disapproval. “Been frettin’ about summat?”