“I presume you mean that you encountered my sister, Prudence?” Miss Graynor interrupted him frigidly.
He flushed, and felt savage with himself for being betrayed into the weakness.
“I met Miss Prudence—yes, and persuaded her to show me the woods. You have some very beautiful scenery about here; it seemed a pity to miss the best of it, and this was my last opportunity. I made the most of it,” he added with a touch of audacity which Miss Agatha inwardly resented.
“We’ve had a delightful time,” Prudence interposed defiantly, and turned as her father entered the room and forestalled his reproaches with a light kiss on his unresponsive lips. “I’ve been picnicking in the woods, daddy,” she said brightly. “And now we’ve come back—for tea.”
She made this announcement in the tone of a person who does not intend to be denied. Miss Agatha remarked tartly that it was not the hour for tea, and Mr Graynor, ignoring the hospitable suggestion, reproved her for her long absence.
“You caused me considerable anxiety,” he said.
Prudence expressed her contrition. Steele added his apologies, although in his heart he felt there was nothing in the adventure to apologise for.
“I am afraid the fault was mine,” he said. “The suggestion originated with me. I was thoughtless enough to overlook the fact that you might be worried.”
“The thoughtlessness was on my daughter’s side,” Mr Graynor answered. “She is fully aware that her absence from luncheon would cause anxiety. She should have invited you to return with her instead.”
Prudence flashed a surprised smile at him. To have done what he proposed was the last thing she would have dared to do. Had she given the invitation she would have been reproved quite as severely for taking the liberty as for absenting herself without permission. The privilege of independent action involving promiscuous hospitality was vested solely in Agatha and William.