“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Cameron. I understood you to desire Dr. Martin's presence, and—I ventured to send a wire in your name. I hope you will forgive the liberty,” said Smith, red to his hair-roots and looking over his horse's neck with a most apologetic air.
“Forgive the liberty?” cried Mandy. “Why, bless you, Mr. Smith, you are my guardian angel,” running to him and shaking him warmly by the hand.
“And he brought, us here, too,” cried Moira. “He has been awfully good to me these days. I do not know what I should have done without him.”
Meantime Smith was standing first on one foot and then on the other in a most unhappy state of mind.
“Guess I will be going back,” he said in an agony of awkwardness and confusion. “It is getting kind of late.”
“What? Going right away?” exclaimed Mandy.
“I've got some chores to look after, and I guess none of you are coming back now anyway.”
“Well, hold on a bit,” said the doctor. “We'll see what's doing inside. Let's get the lie of things.”
“Guess you don't need me any more,” continued Smith. “Good-by.” And he climbed on to his horse. “I have got to get back. So long.”
No one appeared to have any good reason why Smith should remain, and so he rode away.