"Oh, I say," whispered Barton, "won't you even look at me?"

Mechanically the girl opened her eyes and stared at him fixedly until
his own eyes fell.

"Eve!" called her father sharply from the next room, "where in
creation is my data concerning North American orchids?"

"In my steamer-trunk," began the girl. "On the left hand side. Tucked
in between your riding-boots and my best hat."

"O--h," called her father.

Barton edged forward in his chair and touched the girl's brown, boyish
little hand.

"Really, Miss Eve," he stammered, "I'm awfully sorry you got hurt!
Truly I am! Truly it made me feel awfully squeamish! Really I've been
thinking a lot about you these last few days! Honestly I have! Never
in all my life did I ever carry any one as little and hurt as you
were! It sort of haunts me, I tell you. Isn't there something I could
do for you?"

"Something you could do for me?" said little Eve Edgarton, staring.
Then again the heavy lashes came shadowing down across her cheeks.

"I haven't had any very great luck," she said, "in finding you ready
to do things for me."