He held out his hand. Amy could not refuse to take it, indeed it was all so sudden, she never thought of refusing.
"Have you hurt your hand, Miss Neville?" he inquired, seeing she held out the left, while the right was in some measure supported by the thumb being thrust into the waist belt.
"Slightly," replied Amy, and would have passed on, but he was determined this time she should not evade him.
"What is the matter with it? How did you hurt it?"
"It was wrenched," she said, hesitatingly, and a little confusedly. "I do not think there is much the matter with it."
"Wrenched!" echoed he, in some surprise. Then, all at once, the thought seemed to strike him as to how it was done, and he added, decidedly, "It was yesterday, at the lake, holding my horse. Confound him!"
Amy did not deny his assertion, indeed she could not, as it was true.
"Are you much hurt?" he asked again, in a kind voice.
"I think not. It is bruised or sprained, that is all."
"All!" he repeated, reproachfully and tenderly.