It was about four o’clock in the afternoon; the leaves and grass were still wet, for it had been raining hard all the morning, and the mist was rising already from the marsh. There were scarcely any flowers left now, but by wandering into remote nooks of the garden, and by stepping in among the plants and spying out every blossom hidden under the leaves, I managed at last to collect enough for a very fair October bouquet. I took them into the house, and it suddenly occurred to me that they would make a better display in a large wire-covered vase that stood on a whatnot in the drawing-room. So I ran in there, with my frock still tucked up, the gardening-knife in one dirty hand and my basket of flowers on my arm. I had my hand still on the handle of the door, when I saw there was a gentleman in there, standing at the window, looking out into the garden. I slipped back hastily, hoping to escape before he could catch sight of me; but he turned, crossed the room quickly, and stopped me.
“Miss Christie!”
It was Mr. Carruthers.
“They told me you were out.”
Sarah’s work, thought I.
“No; I was only in the garden.”
There was no help for my appearance now, so I quietly took the pin out of my frock and let it down while he went on talking.
“I am very, very glad to see you. You are looking very well. I am afraid,” said he, still holding my hand, “you have not been missing any of us much.”
“Well, you see I had known the people there only two days,” said I seriously.
“ ‘The people there’! As if I cared how little you missed ‘the people there’! When I say you have not been missing any of us, I mean you have not been missing me.”