“Awfully sorry. Might have killed you. Can’t forgive myself.”
The girl treated the affair in still another way. She giggled. And somehow that brainless laugh afflicted me more than anything that had gone before. It was not her fault, I suppose. This untimely mirth was merely due to disordered nerves. But I had taken a prejudice against her at first sight.
“I do hope,” babbled Ukridge, “you aren’t hurt? Do tell me you aren’t hurt.”
The girl giggled again. And she was at least twelve pounds too heavy to be a giggler. I wanted to pass on and forget her.
“No, reely, thanks.”
“But shaken, what?”
“I did come down a fair old bang,” chuckled this repellent female.
“I thought so. I was afraid so. Shaken. Ganglions vibrating. You must let me drive you home.”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter.”
“I insist. Positively I insist!”