Instead of taking the flower, she drew back with a gesture of repulsion.
“Oh, take it away!” she exclaimed.
Blake flung the rejected gift on the ground, and crushed it beneath his heel.
“Catch me making a fool of myself again!” he growled.
“I–I did not mean it that way–really I didn’t, Mr. Blake. It was the thought of that awful snake.”
But Blake, cut to the quick, had turned away, far too angry to heed what she said. He stopped short beside the Englishman; but only to sling the skin of honey upon his back. The load was by no means a light one, even for his strength. Yet he caught up the heavy pot as well, and made off across the plain at a pace which the others could not hope to equal.
As Winthrope rose and came forward to join Miss Leslie, he looked about closely for the bruised flower. It was nowhere in sight.
“Er–beg pardon, Miss Genevieve, but did not Blake drop the bloom–er–blossom somewhere about here?”
“Perhaps he did,” replied Miss Leslie. She spoke with studied indifference.
“I–ah–saw the fellow exhibit his impudence.”