The strip of hart’s-tongue could not conceal a rising glow in the face behind it, but Francie’s voice was as undaunted as ever as she replied,
“Who told you I ran for my life?”
“You told me so yourself.”
“I didn’t. I only told you I’d had a row with her.”
“Well, that’s as good as saying you had to run. You don’t suppose I thought you’d get the better of Charlotte?”
“I daresay you didn’t, because you’re afraid of her yourself!”
There was a degree of truth in this that made Mr. Lambert suddenly realise Francie’s improper levity about serious things.
“I’ll tell you one thing I’m afraid of,” he said severely, “and that is that you made a mistake in fighting with Charlotte. If you’d chosen to—to do as she wished, she’s easy enough to get on with.”
Francie flung her fern over the parapet and made no answer.
“I suppose you know she’s moved into Gurthnamuckla?” he went on.