She walked beside Mrs. Talcott and helped her with the slugs.
"Been out for a walk, Karen?" Mrs. Talcott inquired. They had reached the end of the border and moved on to a higher one.
"Only to the cliff," said Karen.
"You look kind of tired," Mrs. Talcott remarked, and Karen owned that she felt tired. "It's so warm to-day," she said.
"Yes; it's real hot. Let's walk under the trees." Mrs. Talcott took out her handkerchief and wiped her large, saffron-coloured forehead.
They walked slowly in the thin shadow of the young foliage.
"You're staying on for a while, aren't you?" Mrs. Talcott inquired presently. She had as yet asked Karen no question and Karen felt that something in her own demeanour had caused this one.
"For more than a while," she said. "I am not going away again." In the sound of the words she found a curious reassurance. Was it not her home, Les Solitudes?
Mrs. Talcott said nothing for some moments, stooping to nip a drooping leaf from a plant they passed. Then she questioned further: "Is Mr. Jardine coming down here?"
"I have left my husband," said Karen.