Helen smiled.
"What a good idea! I can guess exactly how you feel."
"Can you? Well, don't tell anyone. If Agatha knew, she would be sure to say that I was in mischief, and then I should be forbidden to come here again."
"I won't say a word. Go on digging, and I will stop and watch you."
Harold threw down his spade.
"I don't want to dig any more. I say, shall we sit on the top of the wall and talk? There is a place just there overlooking the road from where one can see everything that goes by without being seen one's self."
Helen needed no persuasion. Assisted by Harold, who climbed like a cat, she easily scaled the wall, and, sheltered from observation by the leafy branches of an overhanging copper beech, they soon fell into pleasant talk. So deeply interesting were their mutual confidences, that it was not until a glimpse of Mrs. Desmond's victoria going by rapidly recalled Helen to a recollection of the impropriety of her present position that she remembered Grace, whom she had left so unceremoniously, and who would probably be seeking her, as the afternoon was wearing on.
"What's the matter?" asked Harold, seeing Helen's face fall.
"There is mamma going to the Rectory. She said that she might fetch me."
"Why don't you say mother? Mamma sounds so funny."