Then, having dried these words of wisdom, she placed the sheet of notepaper in the envelope and gummed it. Then, getting down from the chair, she ran to the window to see that nobody was coming, and, assured of the fact, ran to the writing-table and stole a stamp from the drawer in which they were kept. Having stamped the latter, she placed this torpedo in her pocket, and, running out, called for Norah to get her hat and coat, as she wanted to go out on the Downs.
Every day at this hour Miss Grimshaw was in the habit of going for a walk and taking Effie with her. To-day, returning from looking at the horses, she found, to her surprise, Effie dressed and waiting.
"Which way shall we go?" asked Miss Grimshaw.
"Let's go through the village," said Effie. "I like the village."
It was a moist day, damp and warm, with just the faintest threat of rain. It was the last day of the season for the West Sussex hounds. They had met at Rookhurst, some seven miles away, and there was a chance of getting a glimpse of them.
As they passed the spot where, on Saturday, Miss Grimshaw had plucked the primrose and placed it in Mr. Dashwood's coat, she noticed that several more were out.
"I say," said Effie, as though she were a thought reader, "why did Mr. Dashwood go 'way Saturday?"
"I'm sure I don't know," replied the girl with a start. "What makes you ask?"
"I don't know," replied Effie.
Miss Grimshaw glanced sideways at her companion. Effie had lost considerably the elfish look that had been a striking feature in the child during her long, imaginary illness, but she had not lost it entirely. There was still something old-fashioned and vaguely uncanny about her at times, and she had, without doubt, now and then, the trick of saying things so opposite as to hint at a more than natural intelligence. Parrots have this peculiarity, too.