Cornelia noted his gaze, without in the least guessing its meaning.
“It was the other wrist that was sprained— The right one!” she said, holding it up as she spoke, and carefully moving it to and fro. “It’s heaps better, thanks to you. I set Mury to rub it, according to instructions, and—there you are! It’s most as well as the other.”
“Ready to shake hands, now?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Mentally, as well as physically?”
The white teeth showed in a smile of comprehension.
“I—guess so! I never was one to harbour animosity.”
“I am glad of that! You bade me such a frigid good-bye on Thursday afternoon that I was afraid you had taken a violent dislike to me.”
“My stars and stripes, that’s pretty calm! What about you, I beg to ask?” Cornelia rolled indignant eyes to the hanging lamp. “I didn’t hev to think; I heard from your own lips what you thought about me! I couldn’t rest easy in my bed, for fear you went home and did away with Mr Greville, for making you drive me home. I never supposed I should live to endoor the degradation of having a man do things for me against his will, but I had to come to England to find my mistake. And then you sit there and accuse me of disliking you!—Well!!!”
Guest flushed with embarrassment; with something deeper than embarrassment; with honest shame. He clasped his hands between his knees, and bent forward eagerly.