"Harold," she sighed, "I wish you'd tell me something."
"Certainly! You have only to command me," bowed the lad, with mock pomposity, as he fell into step with her.
Genevieve was frowning. She did not even smile.
"Harold, if you had something that belonged to somebody else, and they didn't know you had it and would feel dreadfully if they found out you had it, do you think you ought to give it back to them, and so let them know you had it, when all the time if they didn't know you had it, they wouldn't care at all?"
"W-w-well!" whistled Harold. "Do you mind—er—giving me that again, now—say, in pieces a foot long this time? If I were Cordelia I might give you my answer right off the handle, but—I'm not Cordelia, you see."
Genevieve laughed a little ruefully.
"There wouldn't anybody know, of course, unless I told the rest; and I can't tell the rest."
"Maybe not," smiled Harold, oddly; "but I'll wager you'll have to be telling something to Miss Jane pretty quick now. I saw you when you flew out of the yard an hour ago, and I fancy Miss Jane must have seen you, too. At any rate, she's been to the door three times since, to my knowledge, to look for you."
Genevieve clapped her hand to her lips.
"Mercy! I never thought to tell them a word. I just ran."