Then he fled, and to cover his retreat sang out loudly for Alan all the way downstairs.
“I say, Aunt Enid wants to talk to you,” said Alan.
“Aunt Enid?” Michael echoed.
“Mrs. Carthew,” Alan explained.
“I vote we go for a walk afterwards, don’t you?” Michael suggested.
“Rather,” said Alan. “I’ll shout for you, when I think you’ve jawed long enough.”
Michael found Mrs. Carthew in her sun-coloured garden, cutting down the withering lupins whose silky seed-pods were strewn all about the paths.
“Can you spare ten minutes for an old friend?” asked Mrs. Carthew.
Michael thought how tremendously wise she looked, and lest he should be held to be staring unduly, he bent down to sweep together the shimmering seed-pods, while Mrs. Carthew snipped away, talking in sentences that matched the quick snickasnack of her weapon.
“I must say you’ve grown up into an attractive youth. Let me see, you must be seventeen and a half. I suppose you think yourself a man now? Dear me, these lupins should have been cut back a fortnight ago. And now I have destroyed a hollyhock. Tut-tut, I’m getting very blind. What did you think of Maud’s son? A healthy rosy child, and not at all amenable to discipline, I’m glad to say. Well, are you enjoying school?”