“At present, nothing; you must take a leaf out of Cara’s book, and pretend we have not seen her—remember that.”
And in accordance with this advice, no remark was made when twenty minutes later, a breathless Cara scrambled into the motor-boat, full of voluble excuses and soft caresses for her sweet Mum. “Berthe had been so ill and miserable—she had not dared to leave her till she slept. She knew her darling Mum would forgive her, and she had run every step of the way down the Drei Linden, and nearly broken her neck!”
As the motor-boat squattered off from the stage, a figure stepped out from under the trees, waving a handkerchief, and a manly voice shouted a hearty “Auf wiedersehen!”
“What a funny man! Who is he shouting to? Were the illuminations good?” enquired the still breathless Cara with an air of innocent curiosity.
“Yes, I think so,” replied Mrs. Hesketh.
“And were there the usual little boats with lanterns?”
Here indeed was audacity!
“Oh, yes, the usual little boats.”
“I’ve not missed much—nothing strange or uncommon?”
“Oh, yes, there was,” began Mrs. Hesketh, speaking with rash significance; but a pressure from her friend’s hand restrained further explanation, and she muttered, “Of course, it was all a novelty to me.”