“I would advise you to go in the opposite direction, then,” he said. “Exmoor lies that way.” He pointed down the road with his stick.
“How stupid of me!” exclaimed Molly. “I was coasting and tumbled off the sled. I was completely dazed, I suppose, when I crawled out of the drift.”
The two walked along in silence. Molly gave the man a covert glance. He was very distinguished looking and vaguely reminded her of someone.
“You are one of the students of Wellington?” he asked presently.
“Yes, sir,” answered Molly respectfully.
The stranger smiled.
“You are from the south. I never heard a girl across the boundary line use ‘sir.’”
“I am,” she answered briefly.
“And from what part, may I ask?”
“From Carmichael Station, Kentucky.”