“Get it, Hilda,” said Lalage.
Hilda struggled out of her beehive and immediately stumbled into a bed of stocks. It had become very dark while we talked, but I think the scent of the flowers might have warned her of her danger. I picked her up carefully and set her on the path.
“Perhaps,” I said, “you won’t mind taking off your shoes as you cross the hall outside the drawing-room. Mr. and Mrs. Dodds must have found out about Miss Battersby’s bridge by this time.”
I think Hilda winked. I did not actually see her wink. It was too dark to see anything; but there was a feeling in the air as if somebody winked and Lalage had nothing to wink about.
“If,” I added, “they rush out and catch you, they will certainly ask you where I am. You must be prepared for that. Would you very much mind exaggerating a little, just for once?”
This time Hilda giggled audibly.
“You might say that Lalage and I had gone for a long walk and that you do not know when we will be back.”
“That wouldn’t be true,” said Lalage, “so of course it can’t be said.”
“We can easily make it true,” I said. “I don’t want to go for a walk at this time of night and I’m sure you don’t, after the exhausting day you’ve had—but rather than put Hilda in an awkward position and set her conscience gnawing at her during the night we might start at once, not telling Hilda when we’ll be back.”
“All right,” said Lalage. “Pussy will fuss afterward of course. But——”