"You wouldn't have been a bit of good," she returned cruelly. "You're much too clumsy. They wouldn't even let Jim or daddy help. _I_ held his head, so there!" "Well, I suppose I could have held his beastly head, too, couldn't I?" roared Ted. "It wasn't a beastly head; it was awfully nice,--hair all silky, not baby's curls like yours," said Katharine scornfully. "And wasn't he plucky, too! His leg must have hurt frightfully, but he just didn't say a word or utter a sound. All the way home, whenever the thing jolted him, he just screwed up his mouth and looked at me, and that was all. It was the finest thing I've ever seen." "But you haven't seen much," said Ted. "No, I haven't. But I've seen you squirm when you had toothache. And you're not fit to speak to if you have an ordinary headache," laughed Katharine. They walked the rest of the way in silence. "That is where he lies now," said Katharine, with a dramatic gesture towards the spare-room window. Her cheeks were red with excitement, and she never noticed the look on Ted's face as he shrugged his shoulders and made a great pretence of whistling carelessly. "What sort of a chap is he? Some tourist bounder, I suppose," he condescended to say. "He isn't a bounder. He has awfully nice hands,--white, and thin, and soft. He's rather pale, with a lot of black hair and a curly beard." "What a played-out chap to make such a fuss about!" said Ted, turning away contemptuously. "Sounds more like a monkey than anything else. Good-bye. I wish you joy of him!" "I suppose I'll see you again some time?" she called after him. "Oh, yes; I suppose so." "And it _was_ news, wasn't it, Ted?" "You seem to think so, anyway." "Poor Ted!" She laughed, and ran indoors. But he had hardly crossed the first field before she had caught him up again, breathless and penitent. "I didn't mean it, Ted; I didn't, _really_, old boy. It wasn't news, and he _is_ a monkey, and I'm a horrid pig. Come up after lunch, won't you, Ted? I promise not to talk about him once, and I want to show you something. You will come, Ted, won't you?" She flung her arms round him in her impulsive way, and gave him one of her rough, playful hugs. But for the first time in his life, Ted shook her off stiffly, and hastened on. "What's the matter?" asked Katharine, more perplexed than annoyed. "Oh, all right; I'll come. Don't be a fool, Kitty!" he jerked over his shoulder; and she turned away, only half satisfied, and went slowly into the house. It was characteristic of her that the smallest lack of response from some one else would change her mood immediately; and when she entered the dining-room a few minutes later, her vivacity was all gone, and the first words she caught of the conversation at the breakfast-table only helped to irritate her still further. "Oh, bother Mr. Wilton!" she said crossly. "The whole house seems to have gone mad over Mr. Wilton. I am tired of hearing his name."