'But I cannot be bothered with anybody's fear but my own!'
He faced her with the same bright, grave face he had worn all along. 'I owe it to Mr. Falkirk to carry you back safe and sound.'
She laughed—her pretty mouth in a curl of fun.
'Ah,' she said, 'before you deal extensively with self-willed women, you need to study the subject! I see the case is hopeless. If you had presented it right end first, Mr. Rollo, I cannot tell what I might have said, but as it is, I can only walk.'
She turned quick about towards Primrose, pulling her hat back into its place; which hat, being ill disposed, first caught on her comb, and then, disengaged, carried the comb with it, and down came Miss Hazel's hair about her shoulders. Not in 'wavy tresses,' or 'rippling masses,' but in good, honest, wayward curls, and plenty of them, and all her own. The hat had to come off now, and gloves as well, for both hands had as much as they could manage. Rollo took the gloves, and held the hat, and waited upon her with grave punctiliousness, while Primrose looked anxious and annoyed. When hair and hat were in order again and he had delivered the gloves, Rollo requested to be told by the peremptory little owner of them, 'what was the matter with the right end of the subject, now she had got it?'
'I have not got it. The subject has only been gradually turning round as I pushed, like a turnstile. Mr. Rollo, I think it would do you a great deal of good to be thoroughly thwarted and vexed two or three times—then you would learn how to do things.'
'But, dear Miss Kennedy,' said Primrose's distressed voice, 'you are not going to try to walk through this heat?'
Wych Hazel turned and wrapped her arms about Primrose. 'Yes, I am—but I don't think it's hot. And please don't call me "Miss Kennedy"—your father does not.'
'But it's four or five miles.'
'I've walked more than that, often. Good-bye—will you let—'