The son of a strong-minded though purely feminine mother, he had been trained to esteem discretion in dress almost as highly as rectitude of character in a woman; and by no charitable stretch of the imagination could he endow his first impression of Patty Vetch with either of these attributes.
"It would serve her right if she fell and broke her leg," he thought severely; and the idea of such merited punishment was still in his mind when he heard a sharp gasp of surprise, and saw the girl slip, with a frantic clutch at the air, and fall at full length on the shining ground.

When he sprang forward and bent over her, she rose quickly to her knees and held out what he thought at first was some queer small muff of feathers.
"Please hold this pigeon," she said, "I saw it this afternoon, and I came out to look for it.

Somebody has broken its wings." "If you came out to walk on ice," he replied with a smile, "why, in Heaven's name, didn't you wear skates or rubbers ?" She gave a short little laugh which was entirely without merriment.

"I don't skate, and I never wear rubbers." He glanced down at her feet in candid disapproval.

"Then you mustn't be surprised if you get a sprained ankle." "I am not surprised," she retorted calmly.