"And"—then the girl mused—"I am all very well now, but Betty will want a real governess in a little while. It will be very hard to leave them. I almost think," said Caroline, a little unsteadily, "that I was better off when I had no chance of growing very attached to any one. It cannot hurt to part when one does not know how sweet it is to care and to be cared for."
Cheerless and yet grey as the country was in its wintry aspect, it had always a charm and a beauty for Caroline.
Halfway to the town she marked a bush standing high above the hedge, on which clustered some brilliant red berries.
"Those are just what Betty wants," she said to herself. But she deferred picking them till her return.
The afternoon light was beginning to fade as she left the town; she was laden with parcels, her arms were quite full.
She had just passed into the long road that led to Yelverton, when a cab overtook her. It was an open fly, and a man sat in it alone, with some luggage piled in front of him.
Caroline just glanced round, and then to her surprise she recognized Rupert Haverford, who quickly stopped the cab as he in his turn recognized her.
"Are you walking?" he asked. "But it is getting quite dark, you will lose your way!"
She laughed.
"Oh, impossible! It is a straight road, one could not go astray."