"Thank you," she said, simply. "I did not imagine you were so clever—or so kind."
The boy blushed deeply with pleasure. He did not know her trouble, but the keen eye of love had guessed at its existence. It had been easy for him who watched her every look, who knew every shade and every line of her face, to tell that she was in distress, to interpret her pallor and her trembling terror aright.
"You don't want to go back?" he asked.
"Oh, no, I cannot go back! Besides, I am tired; it is time to go home."
"Stay here, then, and I will call Mrs. Hazeldine."
He left her standing alone upon the grass, and went back to the crowded path. Presently he returned with her friend.
"My dear Vera, what is the matter? The boy says you have such a headache! I am so sorry, and I wouldn't let any of those chattering fools come back to lunch. Why, you look quite pale, child! Will it be too much for you to have the boy, because we will send him away, too, if you like?"
But Vera turned round and smiled upon the boy.
"Oh, no, let him come, certainly; but let us go home, all three of us at once, if you don't mind."
The thoughtfulness that had kept her secret for her, even from the eyes of the woman who was supposed to be her intimate friend, surely deserved its reward.