“That wretched gate!” she cried. “It’s locked—and I haven’t got the key.”
“No more have I, I’m sorry to say,” said Lynborough. He, on his part, had forgotten nothing.
“It’s nearly two miles round by the road—and so hot and dusty!—Really Helena does cut off her nose to spite her face!” Though, in truth, it appeared rather to be Miss Gilletson’s nose the Marchesa had cut off.
A commiserating gravity sat on Lord Lynborough’s attentive countenance.
“If I were younger, I’d climb that wall,” declared Miss Gilletson. “As it is—well, but for your lovely flowers, I’d better have gone the other way after all.”
“I don’t want you to feel that,” said he, almost tenderly.
“I must walk!”
“Oh no, you needn’t,” said Lynborough.
As he spoke, there issued from the gates behind them a luxurious victoria, drawn by two admirable horses. It came to a stand by Lynborough, the coachman touching his hat, the footman leaping to the ground.
“Just take Miss Gilletson to the Grange, Williams. Stop a little way short of the house. She wants to walk through the garden.”