‘Best go in to dinner,’ said William, and the four walked in silence across the park. When they got to the side door William spoke.
‘You’re a fair masterpiece, Miss Caroline,’ he said; ‘that I will say.’
‘Thank you,’ said Caroline.
Charles and Charlotte both felt—they owned it afterwards—almost choked by all the things they wanted to say to Caroline and couldn’t, because of William. They drew long breaths and almost snorted with mixed emotions.
‘I say,’ said Caroline eagerly, as William turned away. But Charles interrupted.
‘We don’t mean to speak to you,’ he said.
And just then Mrs. Wilmington appeared at the door, and no one could say anything further; anything that mattered, that is.
She escorted the girls to their room. In her superior lady-like way she was curious about the missing boy. Charlotte told the story briefly, while Caroline buried her hot face in a big basin of cold water and blew like a grampus. Then there was dinner, and Mrs. Wilmington stayed all through that to hear more details. When dinner was over Caroline disappeared.
‘I expect she’s gone away to cry,’ Charlotte whispered to her brother. ‘I say, I wish we hadn’t. But we did agree we oughtn’t to speak to a traitor till it was sorry: you said so yourself in the wood.’
‘It’s all very beastly,’ said Charles. ‘I wish it hadn’t happened, upsetting everything.’