"No, dear," she said. "Your mother has been out all the afternoon. You and I will have some tea to refresh ourselves, and then I must go and find her."
"But you don't know where she is."
"Not exactly, but I know her favourite haunts. When she walks alone, she almost always goes to one particular part of Durdham Down. I have had to fetch her home before now. She forgets how time goes."
"Then mother isn't well yet?"
"I think there is a touch of weakness still, Kitty. I am not sure that she will ever quite lose it," Mary answered.
She made tea quickly, not letting me help: and presently I asked, "May I go with you to look for her?"
"Too far, after your journey," says she.
"O no! I am getting quite rested," I said. "Please don't leave me alone here. Mother might come in."
"Would you be afraid of her, if she did?" asked Mary, with a curious sort of look.
"No," I said, and I was ashamed. "No, not afraid exactly; only I don't know how she'll take seeing me."