‘What she done this morning,’ William answered.
‘I suppose she thought it was right.’
‘I don’ know about right,’ said William, scratching his ear. ‘Anyhow she went down along towards where you was messing about in the wood this morning. Just after dinner she went with a book under her arm and her pinny full of roses. I’m coming along that way myself when I’ve finished my pipe.’
Charlotte and Charles went down slowly to the wood, and they were both very uncomfortable. However right Caroline might have been....
‘I can’t understand how she can—the very place where he was—all safe only this morning,’ said Charlotte, and walked slower than ever. They went so slowly that William had almost caught them up before they had reached the wood.
Just before they turned in among the dappled shadows of the wood, Charles said, ‘Did you hear that?’
‘Yes,’ said Charlotte; ‘it’s only Caro talking to herself.’ And they went on. They did not hear any more talking, and when they reached the lair Caroline was sitting there silent with a splash of red rose colour beside her among the fern.
‘Oh, Caro!’ cried Charlotte, almost weeping and flumping down beside her sister; ‘I’m sorry we were horrid. We see now you must have thought you were being Spartan-boyish or something. And it’s too perfectly horrid. And do let’s make it up; do.’
‘I did think you’d more sense,’ said Caroline, but she kissed Charlotte too, ‘or that you’d know that I had—more sense, I mean. And directly I began to tell you, you said That.’ She sniffed. It was plain that she had been crying.