The girl went on flushing, even after she was safely leaning against Mutineer. There was another ten seconds’ pause, and then she said, still with downcast eyes, “I was so frightened, that I did not know what I was doing.”
“You behaved very well,” said Peter, in the most comforting voice he could command. “You held your horse splendidly.”
“I wasn’t a bit frightened, till the saddle began to turn.” The girl still kept her eyes on the ground, and still blushed. She was undergoing almost the keenest mortification possible for a woman. She had for a moment been horrified by the thought that she had behaved in this way to a groom. But a stranger—a gentleman—was worse! She had not looked at Peter’s face, but his irreproachable riding-rig had been noticed. “If it had only been a policeman,” she thought. “What can I say to him?”
Peter saw the mortification without quite understanding it. He knew, however, it was his duty to ease it, and took the best way by giving her something else to think about.
“As soon as you feel able to walk, you had better take my arm. We can get a cab at the 72d Street entrance, probably. If you don’t feel able to walk, sit down on that stone, and I’ll bring a cab. It oughtn’t to take me ten minutes.”
“You are very good,” said the girl, raising her eyes, and taking a look at Peter’s face for the first time.
A thrill went through Peter.
The girl had slate-colored eyes!!