She stopped abruptly as they came to a steep rock.

“Please go on ahead,” she said with an appealing look in her brown eyes, as he put out his hand to help her down.  “I can get down very well myself.”

“Come, be sensible, little girl,” he returned; “we must not have another accident to-day.  Pretty ankles are as hard to mend as broken arms.”

Again the colour mounted to her cheeks; no one had ever spoken to her in this way before.

“Please don’t,” she returned, her voice trembling.

“Don’t what, may I ask?” he laughed.

“Please don’t call me ‘little girl’; I—­I don’t like it,” she returned, not knowing what else to say and still uneasy—­outraged, really, if she had understood her feelings.  She sat down quickly, and as he turned to look at the torrent below, slid down the rock in safety.  Sperry’s brow knit.  What surprised him was to find her different from the girls he had known.  Then he said in an absent way: 

“What splendid rapids!”

“It’s the most beautiful old stream in the world,” replied Margaret, glad he had found another topic besides herself.

“But be careful,” he cautioned her a few rods farther on; “it’s slippery here.  Come, give me your arm.”

Again she evaded him.

“I’m not an invalid,” she laughed—­she was farther from him now and her courage had accordingly increased.

“Of course you’re not—­whoever said you were.  Invalids do not have cheeks like roses, my little girl, and yours are wonderful to-day.”

The girl turned away her head in silence, and the two picked their steps the remainder of the way down to the brook without speaking.  There she made a spring and landed on a flat rock about the edge of which swirled the green water of a broad pool.  Sperry, undaunted, seated himself beside her.

“Margaret,” he began, “why don’t you like me?  I seem to have offended you.  Tell me, what have I said?  I wouldn’t offend you for the world, and you know it.  Why don’t you like me?” he repeated.

“Why, doctor!” she exclaimed with a forced little laugh that trembled in her fresh, young throat, “what a funny question!”

“I am quite serious,” he added, with a sudden vibrant tone in his voice.  Impulsively his hand closed over hers; she felt for a second the warm pressure of his fingers, the next instant she started to her feet.

“Don’t!” she cried indignantly, flushing to the roots of her fair hair, her wide-open eyes staring at him.  “You mustn’t do that; I don’t like it!” Her lips were trembling now, her eyes full of tears.  Then she added helplessly “We had better be going—­we shall be late for luncheon.”

He was standing beside her now.  “Then tell me you like me,” he insisted.  “Besides, we have loads of time.  Why, it’s only twenty minutes to one,” he said, looking hurriedly at his watch, careful to conceal the tell-tale hands of its dial from her frightened glance.