"One of the church towers would be a good place for sighting her," suggested Noreen; "but then we shouldn't be able to lay hold. So the road be it. Hope her cousin won't want to hang on to her by the way; we don't yearn to have the whole show tacked on to us."
"I don't suppose she'll come," Gabrielle said; "Lady Greta, I mean. She'll just send Joey in the car. She'll know we shall bring her back all right."
"I see. We just grab Joey, and say, 'Home, James,' haughtily to the chauffeur. Come on."
They slipped away unnoticed from the throng of girls at the entrance to Fishmarket Field, and made the best of their pace to the road, setting out along it at a steady double. The reservoir was nearly three-quarters of a mile away, but Noreen had come in first in the Hundred Yards Race for over-fourteens-under-sixteens at the College Sports in the summer, and Gabrielle was a quick though not a lasting runner. The reservoir was reached in an easy six minutes; and they began to scramble up its high bank. The wind caught at their clothes; it seemed trying to whirl them bodily away. Noreen stopped for breath; Gabrielle caught her arm.
Then, "Try-the-other-side-against-the-wind," she shouted; "wind-might-blow-us-into-water-here."
Noreen had plenty of sense when she chose to use it; she nodded, and the two slithered down the rough brickwork, and dived around to the farther side so as to face that furious wind driving from the sea. They clambered up the bank, and Noreen, who reached the top first, crouched gasping and laughing, with her hat crushed under her arm, and her hair blowing wildly.
"Oh, I shall be blown clean off," she shouted down to her friend. "Come and help me hold on, Gabby; or give me Maddy's glasses."
Gabrielle, who was wrestling with her hat, had no hand free, and Noreen leant down and snatched the glasses from her.
"Yes, there's a car," she proclaimed. "Can't see what it is, or how many people in; but it seems to be doing a sprint all right. Bother that cyclist in front—he gets in the way."