"That will do."
I dried her face, whisking away a few bountiful drops that were clinging to her garments. She arose directly. Several persons who had been late in leaving the church had collected around us. She glanced at them, a look of keen disappointment passing over her face. With an amazing return of vitality, she passed quickly out of the pew, saying, lightly:
"Your church was uncomfortably hot, and the air was very impure; it seems a necessity to absorb one's religion and a vitiated atmosphere at the same time."
She turned to me presently, saying:
"You get very easily alarmed, Miss Selwyn. Are you always so impetuous in your deeds of mercy?"
"Oh, no, indeed. I never had such cause for alarm but once before, and that was a poor widow who was utterly overcome by some good news I was bringing her. My friends usually have sufficient nerve to endure heavy shocks," I said, very sweetly.
Her eyes flashed, but she allowed no further sign of annoyance to escape her. When we reached the door, she turned to me and said, very cordially:
"I shall look for you to-morrow, according to promise. Forgive me for having kept you so long from your escort. I fear a scolding awaits you. Mr. Winthrop I used to find very impatient, if kept waiting."
I left her standing on the church steps, and turned my face homeward. When I reached the street I found Mr. Winthrop had got some distance ahead; but he was walking slowly, and I soon overtook him.
"Is it your custom to remain chatting with your friends after the sermon?" he asked, carelessly.