I am sorry to say that Charlotte only answered ‘Rats!’ and added, ‘I suppose Charles is going to cry off next?’ She did not think he was: she just said it. And Charles most unexpectedly answered:
‘I think I’d rather not, if you don’t mind.’
Charlotte stamped her foot. ‘Oh, all right!’ she said; ‘but for goodness’ sake come on. They’ll think there’s something up.’ And they walked on.
‘Look here,’ said Caroline suddenly, ‘I will pretend to help. It was only that I was so awfully afraid they’d find him. Only if I disappear, you’ll understand it’s just because I felt sillier than I could bear. You help too, Charles. I’m sure you can—only don’t pretend too much. I shouldn’t talk much except asking questions, if I were you.’
‘Right O!’ said Charlotte.
And Charles said, ‘Oh, well, only if I give it away without meaning to, don’t blame me.’
And by this time they were quite near the house, by whose side door of many-coloured glass the group of talking grown-ups awaited them. Mrs. Wilmington was there with her handkerchief over her head. And William and the gardener’s boy and the gardener, and a tall stout young man with fat red hands who was the Police.
‘I can’t and won’t,’ Mrs. Wilmington was saying. ‘The Master’s orders is—are—that he’s not to be disturbed in the mornings on any pretence—not if the house was on fire. I couldn’t face him with this vulgar tale of runaway boys. I give you leave to search for him,’ she said in proud refined accents. ‘I’m quate competent to take that upon me; quate.’