“No, no,” answered Sylvia, in haste, as he made a move to lift the cloth.
It was always hard for her to keep from laughing for long; and there was something so comical in his gravity. Then too, something desperate must be done, for presently he would mount and ride away. “There’s surely no stone in his foot,” he declared.
Whereat Sylvia broke into one of her radiant smiles. “Perhaps,” she said, “it’s in your horse’s foot!”
He looked puzzled.
“Don’t you see?” she laughed. “Something must be wrong—or you couldn’t be here talking to me!”
But he still looked bewildered. “Dear me, what a man!” thought she.
A color was beginning to mount in his cheeks. Perhaps he was going to be offended! Clearly, with such a man one’s cue was frankness. So her tone changed suddenly. “Are you Mr. Shirley?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“And do you know who I am?”
“Yes, Miss Castleman.”