“Flossie, it couldn’t have been you, because you stayed in all yesterday with your cold. Owen and Val were out in the afternoon?”
“We went to see the woman with the new twins,” said Val, indignantly. “We never met anyone the whole way, did we, Owen?”
“No.”
Owen Quentillian had known all the time what was coming. He knew, with the terrible, intimate knowledge of the nursery, that Adrian was the only one of the Canon’s children who did not always speak the truth.
Apparently Lucilla, also, knew.
She said “Oh, Adrian,” in a troubled, imploring voice.
“I didn’t,” said Adrian, and burst into tears.
“I knew it was Adrian,” said little Flora. “I saw Radly coming up the lane very fast, I saw him out of the night-nursery window, and I saw Adrian, too. I knew it was Adrian, all the time.”
None of the children was surprised.
Adrian, confronted with their take-it-for-granted attitude, ceased his mechanical denials.