"Well, there would have been more to catch, wouldn't there? Besides--"
He flushed, and lapsed into silence. Evidently it was inadvisable to
continue the subject.
I gathered together my jagged ends, and turned to walk homeward, rather
wondering what was going to happen when I began to move. I found I
_could_ walk, however, which proved that no bones were broken; but it
was a halting performance, and hurt more than I chose to show. If I
limped _too_ much, in common politeness Mr Maplestone would be obliged
to offer help. I had a vision of Charmion's face if she looked out of
the window and beheld us walking arm in arm up the drive!
"Why do you smile?" cried the voice by my side. There was positive
offence in the tone, and, as I looked my amazement, he continued
accusingly, "You always smile. Every time we meet. It must be an
annoyance to stumble against me wherever you go. Yet you smile! And
to-day you are hurt, and you still smile!"
"I smile at my thoughts," I said grandiloquently. "And you are wrong,
Mr Maplestone. It doesn't annoy me at all. Why should it? You are as
free to walk about as I am. I have no right to complain. And my
conscience is clear! _I_ have done nothing of which I have reason to be
ashamed."
"You mean," he cried, "you mean that?--"
Then his voice broke off sharply, and his forehead wrinkled in dismay.
"_What's that_? That mark on your arm. _Blood_?"
He pointed. I looked, and sure enough a dull red patch was spreading
over the muslin sleeve of my dress. The blow had evidently cut the
skin, and this was the result. I felt dreadfully sorry for myself, and
rather faint, and altogether considerably worse than I had done before,
as a result of beholding these visible signs of injury. So, I was
content to see, did Mr Maplestone himself. He really looked horribly
worried and distressed, and kept glancing at me with anxious eyes, as if
every moment he expected me to collapse.
But he never offered his arm! He came with me as far as the gate, and
then held out his hand in farewell. It would have been churlish to
refuse, so I put my own hand in his just for a moment.
"Don't shake it, please," I said. "It hurts." And then, because it
_did_ seem such an odd thing to say, I smiled again, a feeble watery
smile.
He dropped my hand like a hot coal, and fled.
I limped into the house and told Charmion all about it, and cried
quarts. I was mottled all over, black and blue.