“Beg pardon,” said the policeman. “I must take your names. We are required to report all such things to headquarters.”
“Why, Williams, don’t you know me?” asked Peter.
Williams looked at Peter, now for the first time on a level with him. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Stirling. It was so dark, and you are so seldom here afternoons that I didn’t know you.”
“Tell the chief that this needn’t go on record, nor be given to the reporters.”
“Very well, Mr. Stirling.”
“I beg your pardon,” said the girl in a frank yet shy way, “but will you tell me your first name?”
Peter was rather astonished, but he said “Peter.”
“Oh!” cried the girl, looking Peter in the face. “I understand it now. I didn’t think I could behave so to a stranger! I must have felt it was you.” She was smiling joyfully, and she did not drop her eyes from his. On the contrary she held out her hand to him.
Of course Peter took it. He did not stop to ask if it was right or wrong to hold a young girl’s hand. If it was wrong, it was certainly a very small one, judging from the size of the hand.
“I was so mortified! But if it’s you it’s all right.”