He had just passed the nearest radius to her circle and was proceeding along the tangent that he had laid out for himself, when the unwitting maid looked carefully down and saw a tangle of roots at her very feet.  She was so unfortunate, a second later, as to slip her foot in this very tangle and give her ankle ever so slight a twist.

“Oh!” cried Miss Van Kamp, and Ralph Ellsworth flew to the rescue.  He had not been noticing her at all, and yet he had started to her side before she had even cried out, which was strange.  She had a very attractive voice.

“May I be of assistance?” he anxiously inquired.

“I think not, thank you,” she replied, compressing her lips to keep back the intolerable pain, and half-closing her eyes to show the fine lashes.  Declining the proffered help, she extricated her foot, picked up her autumn branches, and turned away.  She was intensely averse to anything that could be construed as a flirtation, even of the mildest, he could certainly see that.  She took a step, swayed slightly, dropped the leaves, and clutched out her hand to him.

“It is nothing,” she assured him in a moment, withdrawing the hand after he had held it quite long enough.  “Nothing whatever.  I gave my foot a slight wrench, and turned the least bit faint for a moment.”

“You must permit me to walk back, at least to the road, with you,” he insisted, gathering up her armload of branches.  “I couldn’t think of leaving you here alone.”

As he stooped to raise the gay woodland treasures he smiled to himself, ever so slightly.  This was not his first season out, either.

“Delightful spot, isn’t it?” he observed as they regained the road and sauntered in the direction of the Tutt House.

“Quite so,” she reservedly answered.  She had noticed that smile as he stooped.  He must be snubbed a little.  It would be so good for him.

“You don’t happen to know Billy Evans, of Boston, do you?” he asked.

“I think not.  I am but very little acquainted in Boston.”

“Too bad,” he went on.  “I was rather in hopes you knew Billy.  All sorts of a splendid fellow, and knows everybody.”

“Not quite, it seems,” she reminded him, and he winced at the error.  In spite of the sly smile that he had permitted to himself, he was unusually interested.

He tried the weather, the flood, the accident, golf, books and three good, substantial, warranted jokes, but the conversation lagged in spite of him.  Miss Van Kamp would not for the world have it understood that this unconventional meeting, made allowable by her wrenched ankle, could possibly fulfill the functions of a formal introduction.

“What a ripping, queer old building that is!” he exclaimed, making one more brave effort as they came in sight of the hotel.

“It is, rather,” she assented.  “The rooms in it are as quaint and delightful as the exterior, too.”