"What makes you think Gerald is not playing cricket?" Angel asked, a trifle anxiously, after a brief pause, adding, "He wouldn't tell me a story about it. He would have taken Uncle Edward's note himself if he hadn't wanted to play cricket."
"I—I suppose so."
"You suppose so? You don't think he'd tell me a story, do you?"
Gilbert made no answer. Angel looked puzzled and a little hurt.
"Well, good-bye," she said stiffly, casting a reproachful glance at him; "I mustn't stay talking any longer, for it's nearly teatime."
"Good-bye," he answered, and stood leaning on his crutches, gazing after her as she commenced to climb the hill, wondering what could have induced her brother to tell her a deliberate untruth, for that Gerald had done so he was certain in his own mind. He turned towards Wreyford, and, after crossing the bridge, was very soon in the main street. Within sight of his own home he met Gerald Willis himself, and stopped him.
"Hulloa, Willis!" he cried. "What sport, then?"
"What do you mean?" Gerald asked, growing crimson. "I don't understand you."
"Oh, yes, you do! I saw you with you and Hope with your fishing rods, and I perceive from the white clay on your boots where you have been. You've been fishing in the clay pits, haven't you?"
"Y—es," Gerald answered hesitatingly. "Hope has a new aquarium, and he asked me to go with him and catch some fish to put in it—those in the clay pits are just the size and sort he wants. We didn't have much sport this afternoon, though; we shall have to go again."