“I could have caught mine,” said the stranger, with the hint of a smile, “if I had chosen to run for it. But it was such a fag, you know.”
“You like walking twelve miles better than running twelve yards?”
“I don’t know that I put it to myself in that form,” said the stranger; “but I own that I don’t like hurrying. I could take my time over the twelve miles, you see.”
“You’ve done it in pretty good time,” said Lucian. “Three hours, or less.”
“Nearer eight, I fancy.”
“You came by the early train?”
“No, by the late.”
“Ye towers o’ Julia!” was Lucian’s irrelevant comment on this admission.
“I have an idea that I got lost in the dark,” explained the stranger. “I seemed to meet the same duck-pond several times. Thank you very much. I am immensely obliged to you.” He took from Dolly’s hand the warm and foaming milk, drank it, and went on his way, walking, as Lucian now noticed, slightly lame, but gracefully still, as he went up the steep, stony path. Dolly said, watching him with softened eyes, as she sometimes watched Lucian: “He looks tired to death. I am sure he is not strong.”
“Maternal spirit! You were born to be a nurse, Dolly.”