her. It was still her business to be strength to him.
He made a feeble attempt to wipe away the drops of blood from his forehead with his handkerchief.
“Let me be your surgeon!” said she.
She produced her own folded handkerchief, — M. D. were the initials in the corner, — and neatly and tenderly turbaned him.
Wade submitted with delight to this treatment. A tumble with such trimmings was luxury indeed.
“Who would not break his head,” he thought, “to have these delicate fingers plying about him, and this pure, noble face so close to his? What a queenly indifferent manner she has! What a calm brow! What honest eyes! What a firm nose! What equable cheeks! What a grand indignant mouth! Not a bit afraid of me! She feels that I am a gentleman and will not presume.”
“There!” said she, drawing back. “Is that comfortable?”
“Luxury!” he ejaculated with fervor.
“I am afraid I am to blame for your terrible fall.”
“No,— my own clumsiness and that oar-blade are in fault.”
“If you feel well enough to be left alone, I will skate off and call my friends.”
“Please do not leave me quite yet!” says Wade, entirely satisfied with the tête-à-tête.
“Ah! here comes Mr. Skerrett round the Point!” she said, — and sprang up, looking a little guilty.
