“Are you hurt?” he called over his shoulder.
“No,” the other stammered out, unaware of the blood streaming down the side of his head, and then dabbed his handkerchief on it. “It’s only a scratch. What’s happened?”
“Patricia mistook you for a rabbit, I think,” returned Christopher grimly and added to her in a low voice, “Do you know you struck him, Patricia?”
She gave a shiver and put her hands to her face. Even then he did not leave go of her wrists.
“A happy fluke you didn’t aim so well as I did,” called Geoffry, unsteadily coming towards them.
“Don’t come,” said Christopher sharply. “Wait a moment. Patricia,” he tried to pull her hands from her face: her golden head dropped against his shoulder and he put his arms round her.
“What is the matter with Patricia. Is she ill?” asked Geoffry at his shoulder, his voice altered and strained. 273
“It’s all right now. Sorry I wasn’t quicker, Geoffry. Don’t touch her yet.”
But Geoffry was hard pressed already not to thrust the other aside, and he laid his hand on the girl’s arm. Christopher never offered to move.
“Patricia, what’s the matter. You haven’t really hurt me, you know. What on earth were you doing?”