But Marjorie had no intention of keeping her indignation to herself, and she turned to greet Beverly Randolph with eyes that flashed and cheeks that tingled.
"Oh, Mr. Randolph," she exclaimed, as the young man smilingly took off his hat, and paused beside her, "the most dreadful thing has happened. A cruel, wicked boy has been ill-treating a poor old horse. The poor creature had a terribly heavy load, and when he refused to go any further, the boy beat him, and—"
"Where is he?" inquired Beverly, his own eyes beginning to flash. "I'll report the case to the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals."
"He has gone," said Marjorie, regretfully. "He gave the horse a dreadful cut with the whip, and it was so frightened it started, and then he jumped into the wagon and went off. I tried to get the whip away from him, but he was terribly strong, and he hurt my wrist so much I had to let go."
Beverly Randolph's face was a mixture of astonishment, amusement and horror.
"You don't mean that you tackled the fellow yourself?" he demanded incredulously.
Marjorie nodded. Now that the excitement was over she was beginning to feel a little startled at what she had done.
"I had to," she said humbly; "there wasn't any one else to do it. Hortense thinks it was very unladylike, but I don't see what else I could have done. I couldn't just stand by and do nothing while that poor horse was being ill-treated."
"No, I don't suppose you could," said Beverly, smiling. "I don't think I would do it again, though; you might get hurt. Hello! what's the matter?—don't you feel well?"
For Marjorie had suddenly grown very pale, and leaned against the lamp-post.