"I think I enjoyed it even more than you," retorted Elsie. The elders attributed her excited demeanor to the accident.

"If the ropes were tied to the crossbeam, they would be safer, and almost as effective," said the vicar. "Ah! Here comes Martin. Perhaps he can put matters right."

"I don't want to swing any more," vowed Elsie.

"But Martin will," laughed Angle. "We can swop partners. That will be jolly, won't it?"

Blissfully unaware of the thorns awaiting him, the boy advanced. To be candid, he was somewhat awkward in manner. He did not know whether to shake hands all round or simply doff his cap to the entire company.

Moreover, he noted Elsie's presence with mixed feelings, for Mrs.

Saumarez's note had merely invited him to tea. There was no mention of other visitors. He was delighted, yet suspicious. Elsie and Angle were flint and steel. There might be sparks.

Mrs. Saumarez rescued him from one horn of the dilemma. She extended a hand and asked if Mr. Bolland were not pleased that the rain had ceased.

"Now, Martin," said the vicar briskly, "shin up the pole and tie the ropes to the center-piece. These strong-armed giantesses have smashed a chunk of timber as thick as your wrist. Don't allow either of them to hit you. They'll pulverize you at a stroke."

"I fear it was I who broke it," admitted Elsie.

"Then it is you he must beware of."

The vicar, in the midst of this chaff, gave Martin a "leg-up" the pole, and repairs were effected.

When the swing was in order he slid to the ground. Mr. Herbert resumed the stroll with Mrs. Saumarez. There was an awkward pause before Martin said:

"You girls get in. I'll start you."

He spoke collectively, but addressed Elsie. He wondered why her air was so distant.

"No, thank you," she said. "I've done damage enough already."

"Martin," murmured Angle, "she is furious because I said you kissed me."

This direct attack was a crude blunder. Mischievous and utterly unscrupulous though the girl was, she could not measure this boy's real strength of character. The great man is not daunted by great difficulties--he grapples with them; and Martin had in him the material of greatness. He felt at once that he must now choose irrevocably between the two girls, with a most unpromising chance of ever again recovering lost ground with one of them. He did not hesitate an instant.

"Did you say that?" he demanded sternly.

"Ma foi! Isn't it true?"

"The truth may be an insult. You had no right to thrust your schemes into Elsie's knowledge."

"My schemes, you--you pig. I spit at you. Isn't it true?"

"Yes--unfortunately. I shall regret it always."

Angle nearly flew at him with her nails. But she contrived to laugh airily.

"Eh bien, mon cher Martin! There will come another time. I shall remember."

"There will come no other time. You dared me to it. I was stupid enough to forget--for a moment."

"Forget what?"

"That there was a girl in Elmsdale worth fifty of you--an English girl, not a mongrel!"

It was a boyish retort, feeble, unfair, but the most cutting thing he could think of. The words were spoken in heat; he would have recalled them at once if that were possible, but Angle seized the opening with glee.

"That's you!" she cried, stabbing her rival with a finger. "Parbleu! I'm a mixture, half English, half German, but really bad French!"

"Please don't drag me into your interesting conversation," said Elsie with bitter politeness.

"I am sorry I said that," put in the boy. "I might have had two friends.

Now I have lost both."

He turned. His intent was to quit the place forthwith. Elsie caught his arm with an alarmed cry.

"Martin," she almost screamed, "look at your left hand. It is covered with blood!"

Surprised as she, he raised his hand. Blood was streaming down the fingers.

"It's nothing," he said coolly. "I must have opened a deep cut by climbing the swing."

"Quelle horreur!" exclaimed Angle. "I hate blood!"

"I'm awfully sorry--" began Martin.

"Nonsense! Come at once to the kitchen and have it bound up," said Elsie.

They hurried off together. Angle did not offer to accompany them.

Martin glanced at Elsie through the corner of his eye. Her set mouth had relaxed somewhat. Anger was yielding to sympathy.

"I was fighting another wildcat, so was sure to get scratched," he whispered.

"You needn't have kissed it, anyhow," she snapped.

"That, certainly, was a mistake," he admitted.

She made no reply. Once within the house she removed the stained bandage without flinching from the ugly sight of half-healed scars, one of which was bleeding profusely. Cold water soon stopped the outflow, and one of the maids procured some strips of linen, with which Elsie bound the wound tightly.

They had a moment to themselves in recrossing the hall. Martin ventured to touch the girl's shoulder.

"Look here, Elsie," he said boldly, "do you forgive me?"

Something in his voice told her that mere verbal fencing would be useless.

"Yes," she murmured with a wistful smile. "I'll forgive, but I can't forget--for a long time."

On the lawn they encountered Mrs. Saumarez. Learning from Angle why the trio had dispersed so suddenly, she was coming to attend to Martin herself.

The vicar joined them.