She stood looking after him for a few minutes, puffing at the cigarette, and thinking with half-closed eyes, very much like a lithe, graceful cat.
“I wonder what your little game is down here, Master Bartley,” she muttered. “No good, I’ll bet. You never did anything but mischief wherever you went. Well, it doesn’t matter to me. So long as you keep up my allowance and yourself quiet you may do what you please.”
Then she pinned her shawl round her, and, walking quickly out of the wood, went down the lane, and stepped in front of The Dell.
“This ought to be the place,” she said. “Yes, it’s like him to choose a place like this. I should die of the doldrums in a week. But he——”
She stopped a moment or two, standing before the gate as if she were collecting her courage or her mind, then put her hand on the gate.
“Locked!” she said, with a smile. “I don’t think that will keep me out!” and, resting her strong hand on the side post, she sprang over the low gate as easily as a boy of fifteen could have done.
As she did so, the dog came bounding down the path with a threatening growl.
She drew herself together, tightening every muscle, just as she did before one of her dangerous feats on the trapeze, and waited for him, her teeth set, her fist closed. The dog came up to her, and sniffed at her, then wagged his tail.
She laughed softly.
“You’re a fraud, my friend,” she said, stooping down and patting him; then suddenly she gave him a kick, exclaiming: “I’ll make you afraid of me before many hours are passed, bow-wow!”