He really sounded sorry, and that smoothed me down. I murmured that it didn’t matter—only a muslin dress—not his fault, while he went on staring fixedly. Then at last he spoke, and what he said gave me an electric shock of surprise.
“It’s a good thing,” he said, “it wasn’t the one with the frills!”
The one with the frills! For a moment my mind was a whirling void; I was too stupefied to think. Then gradually it dawned upon me that he must be alluding to a dress the skirt of which was composed entirely of tiers of flounces. It was a new and favourite possession, and I also was glad that it was spared. But—why should Mr Maplestone—
I gaped at him, and said:—
“Why?”
And he said lucidly:—
“Well, there would have been more to catch, wouldn’t there? Besides—” He flushed, and lapsed into silence. Evidently it was inadvisable to continue the subject.
I gathered together my jagged ends, and turned to walk homeward, rather wondering what was going to happen when I began to move. I found I could walk, however, which proved that no bones were broken; but it was a halting performance, and hurt more than I chose to show. If I limped too much, in common politeness Mr Maplestone would be obliged to offer help. I had a vision of Charmion’s face if she looked out of the window and beheld us walking arm in arm up the drive!
“Why do you smile?” cried the voice by my side. There was positive offence in the tone, and, as I looked my amazement, he continued accusingly, “You always smile. Every time we meet. It must be an annoyance to stumble against me wherever you go. Yet you smile! And to-day you are hurt, and you still smile!”
“I smile at my thoughts,” I said grandiloquently. “And you are wrong, Mr Maplestone. It doesn’t annoy me at all. Why should it? You are as free to walk about as I am. I have no right to complain. And my conscience is clear! I have done nothing of which I have reason to be ashamed.”