"I—I—well, I really don't know," was her rather lame answer. "The bank was very slippery, and—well, I suppose I walked too near."
Her reply struck him as curious. Why did she attempt to shield the man who, by his sudden flight, was self-convicted of an attempt upon her life?
Felix Krail was not a complete stranger to her. Why had their meeting been a clandestine one? This, and a thousand similar queries ran through his mind as they walked across the field in the direction of a long, low, thatched farmhouse which stood in the distance.
"I'm a complete stranger in these parts," Hamilton informed her. "I live nowadays mostly abroad, away above the Danube, and am only home for a holiday."
"And I'm afraid you've completely spoilt your clothes," she laughed, looking at his wet, muddy trousers and boots.
"Well, if I have, yours also are no further good."
"Oh, my blouse will wash, and I shall send my skirt to the cleaners, and it will come back like new," she answered. "Women's outdoor clothing never suffers by a wetting. We'll get Mrs. Wyatt to dry them, and then I'll get home again to my aunt in Woodnewton. Do you know the place?"
"I fancy I passed through it this morning. One of those long, lean villages, with a church at the end."
"That's it—the dullest little place in all England, I believe."
He was struck by her charm of manner. Though bedraggled and dishevelled, she was nevertheless delightful, and treated her sudden immersion with careless unconcern.