She had opened the door that led out from the wide, breezy hall, and stepped upon the piazza. She now looked down upon the two boys lying there with undisguised astonishment.
Then she came around so that Miles could see her.
“I beg your pardon, miss,” he said, stopping between every three or four words to take breath; “I wanted to get—him out of the—rain. This was the nearest—house. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Is he ill?” she asked.
Rex’s face was turned partly towards her. It was very pale now, but Florence Raynor was thinking also how very handsome it was and in what contrast to that of the fellow who had answered her.
“Yes, he’s very sick, I’m afraid,” replied Miles.
“Is he your brother?” went on Florence.
“Oh, no; just—a friend.”
Miles hesitated before he added the last word; then when he had said it a look of pride came into his eyes for an instant.
“I’ll call mother,” said the girl, and she hurried off to the kitchen, where Mrs. Raynor was making cake.