“I know,” said he. “It’s horrible—but’s it’s our only chance to have a minute together. Cling on to the end of my stick, it’ll help you. This grass isn’t bad going.”
“He’s in the ditch!” gasped Violet.
“It’s soft—he won’t hurt—run!”
CHAPTER XXII
LOVE
“Where are the dogs and things?” asked Miss Lestrange, as she sat on a grassy bank under the shelter of a thick hedge, panting and arranging her hat.
“I don’t know,” replied Mr Fanshawe. “I only know he must be a couple of miles away.”
“This was the reason you wanted me to put on the short skirt.”
“Yes. Wasn’t a bad idea—was it?”
“I don’t know,” sighed she, in a despairing way, and then burst out laughing. “I’m not laughing at him—it’s the whole thing—that man hitting Mr Boxall over the head with a bag of soot—and the little donkey-cart—and that man in the old green coat with the whip—and his tumbling into the ditch, and all these people running after the hounds——”