"Because she isn't my mother."
Both were silent for a moment. Harold's questioning blue eyes looked curiously into Helen's face, but it betrayed nothing. Helen was too deep-natured to wear her heart upon her sleeve. She knew quite well that Mrs. Desmond disliked the word mamma, considering it underbred; but the girl had told herself that she would call no stranger mother, and she kept her word.
"I suppose that I ought to have been with Grace all this time," she said, breaking silence. "Come along, Harold, and let us find her quickly."
"Never mind Grace. She never cares for anybody when she has a book, and she didn't want you to come at all. I expect it is about tea-time, and the best thing we can do is to go straight back to the school-room."
Unfortunately, in order to reach the house it was necessary to pass right under the drawing-room windows. Mrs. Desmond's victoria had deposited her at the Rectory some time before Harold and Helen could return thither, and she clearly discerned the two untidy little figures scudding across the lawn.
"Dear me! Is that Helen?" she asked. "I told her to be ready when I called for her."
Mrs. Bayden, who, with Agatha's assistance, was dispensing tea, looked up nervously.
"Helen! I hope not. I thought that the school-room tea had gone up some time ago. Agatha, would you—"
"It is Helen," broke in Agatha abruptly. "She ran away from Grace and left her alone all the afternoon. Of course she has been with Harold. Birds of a feather, you know. Shall I tell her to come to you at once, Aunt Margaret?"
"Do, my dear," said Mrs. Desmond. "I wish Helen were more like your girl, Susan," she went on as Agatha left the room.