“Oh, an’ did ye? Well, ’twas very kindly done of you. Come, I’ll walk a piece of the way with you.”
He walked a piece of the way—indeed, he walked all the way; and Lizzie thought within herself, as they trudged along, that if any stranger met them who did not know them, he might have taken them for sweethearts; for they walked in almost unbroken silence, just as courting people did, and Tom kept very close to her, and when they came to a rough piece of road he supported her by the elbow, just as he might have done if she had been Susan.
That young lady happened to be leaning languidly against her door-post when the couple drew near. She had been looking up the road as though expecting somebody, and at sight of Tom uttered a faint shriek and rushed into the house, closing the door.
“Pore Susan!” cried Lizzie commiseratingly. “It has given her a turn to see you.”
Locke made no reply, but, after a moment, coming to the precipitous descent which led downwards from the bridge, he supported Lizzie very kindly, and was indeed good enough at one particularly stony bit to encircle her waist with his arm. They parted at the Adlams’ door, and Lizzie tripped joyfully upstairs.
“It’s all right,” she cried gaily. “He’s promised to see about gettin’ a new eye, Susan.”
Miss Adlam turned abruptly away from the window where she chanced to be standing, and cast a suspicious glance upon her friend.
“What was Tom Locke’s arm doin’ round your waist?” she inquired.
“Why, the path was so steep,” explained Lizzie, opening her eyes very wide. “What’s the matter, Susan? Bain’t ye so well this evenin’?”