On his way back he washed his face at a spring, and when he mounted his machine again, he said to himself firmly, "I'm _not_ ashamed--not a bit." As he wheeled his bicycle into the coach-house of the hotel, Dorothy ran into it, caught him by the arm, and cried, "Did they fight?
Is your father hurt ?" He looked at her white, strained face, and said with a dogged air, "My father's all right.

What do you mean about fighting?
I--I've been for a ride--on my bicycle." "Then you did stop it!" cried Dorothy; and before he could ward her off she had kissed him.
"Look here," said Tinker firmly, but gently, "these things won't bear talking about.

They won't really.".