Wallace Sutherland stared at her. To him Christina Lindsay was merely
one of the village girls, whom he had gone to school with, in boyhood
days, some of whom waylaid him at the post office to walk home with him
and all of whom were anxious for his favour. But suddenly one of them
had detached herself from the crowd and stood out alone and indignant,
displaying vigorously the very opposite of admiration or a desire to
please.

"It was brutal to strike a poor animal like that," she continued, still
smarting for Dolly and for her own self respect.

Wallace felt the blood rise to his face. He remembered that she had
called him an idiot. "I suppose you are waiting for me to get out?" he
replied stiffly. For answer Christina turned her horse's head, and the
wheel moved aside invitingly for him to alight. Maggie and Bell broke
into a duet of apologies and protestations.

"Oh, Mr. Wallace, don't go! Why Christine, how can you act like that?
He didn't know Dolly was going to be so wild!" But Christina was
feeling more for herself than for Dolly and was inexorable. Wallace
jumped out, and raised his hat stiffly. But she did not even glance at
him, and drove away quickly up the hill.

"Don't you girls know that he's just making fun of us?" she cried
hotly. "He knew just as well as you did that it was all a put up job,
and he was a big, stupid, cruel thing to hit Dolly that way, so now."
Christina experienced a fierce relief to her outraged pride in thus
being able to revile him.

Maggie Blair was always inclined to be dominated by Christina, and she
looked ashamed. What if her mother were to discover what she had been
doing? But Bell was inclined to argue the matter, and the drive up the
hill was anything but pleasant. However, neither of the girls was very
much disturbed. Christina had made herself obnoxious forever to
Wallace Sutherland, while he would think none the less of them for
being full of fun.

This was the thought uppermost in poor Christina's mind also, when she
reached home and her anger cooled leaving only shame and regret. She
had behaved rudely,--oh, abominably,--to the one person whom above all
others she wished to please. He would despise her and never look at
her again. If she had only acted with dignity, but she had called him
an idiot! She was overwhelmed with shame when she remembered that.

She longed for the advice of Ellen or even Mary and she confided her
troubles to her mo