“We must make haste,” said Willie. “Father’ll want his tea.”
If they made haste they would be close on his heels. Charlie shrank back behind a willow and let them go by; then, quick as thought, rushed to his canoe and paddled across—up the steps and into the temple he rushed. She wasn’t there! Fate is too hard for the best of us sometimes. Charlie sat down and, stretching out his legs, stared gloomily at his toes.
Thus he must have sat nearly ten minutes, when a head was put round the Corinthian pilaster of the doorway.
“Poor boy! Am I very late?”
Charlie leapt up and forward, breathlessly blurting out joy tempered by uneasiness.
Agatha gathered the difficulty of the position.
“Well,” said she, smiling, “I must disappear, and you must go back to your friends.”
“No,” said Charlie. “I must talk to you.”
“But they may come any moment.”
“I don’t care!”