She hurried along in the shadow of the overhanging lilac-hedge, ears a-prick, eyes glancing to right and left. Oblivious of probabilities she saw Clare in every passer-by. At the turn of the blind lane she ran into a woman, walking towards her. She bit back a cry.
But it was only Elsbeth—Elsbeth in her Sunday gown, very determined, gripping her card-case as if it were a dagger. She spoke between relief and distress.
"Alwynne! Why did you disappear? Where have you been?"
"With Clare."
"It was more than rude. You could surely have foregone one afternoon. No one to see Roger off! After all his kindness to you at Dene!"
"See Roger off?"
Elsbeth was pleased to see her concern.
"I should have gone myself, of course, but he would not allow it. The heat—as I have to pay a call. So he saw me on my way and then went off by himself, poor Roger!"
"Where is he going? Why is he going?"
"Back to Dene. The four-five. I am afraid, Alwynne, he has been hurt and upset. Alwynne!"