Which, even had it been spoken, was hardly the comment one would have expected.
The girl looked at him for a moment steadily, then smiled. The change of countenance brought Thorpe to himself, and at the same moment the words she had spoken reached his comprehension.
“But I never received the letter. I'm so sorry,” said he. “It must be at the mill. You see, I've been up in the woods for nearly a month.”
“Then we'll have to forgive you.”
“But I should think they would have done something for you at the mill—”
“Oh, we didn't come by way of your mill. We drove from Marquette.”
“I see,” cried Thorpe, enlightened. “But I'm sorry I didn't know. I'm sorry you didn't let me know. I suppose you thought I was still at the mill. How did you get along? Is Wallace with you?”
“No,” she replied, dropping her hands and straightening her erect figure. “It's horrid. He was coming, and then some business came up and he couldn't get away. We are having the loveliest time though. I do adore the woods. Come,” she cried impatiently, sweeping aside to leave a way clear, “you shall meet my friends.”
Thorpe imagined she referred to the rest of the tenting party. He hesitated.
“I am hardly in fit condition,” he objected.