"Where?" I cried eagerly.
"Reggie!" called a voice some distance away—a voice I recognised with a thrill. "Reggie!"
"Imp, would you like half a crown?"
"'Course I would; but you might clean my back, please," and he began rubbing himself feverishly with his cap, after the fashion of a scrubbing brush.
"Look here," I said, pulling out the coin, "tell me where you hid them—quick—and I'll give you this." The Imp held out his hand, but even as he did so the bushes parted and Lisbeth stood before us. She gave a little, low cry of surprise at sight of me, and then frowned.
"You?" she exclaimed.
"Yes," I answered, raising my cap. And there I stopped, trying frantically to remember the speech I had so carefully prepared—the greeting which was to have explained my conduct and disarmed her resentment at the very outset. But rack my brain as I would, I could think of nothing but the reproach in her eyes—her disdainful mouth and chin—and that one haunting phrase:
"'I suppose I am become the object of your bitterest scorn by now?'" I found myself saying.
"My aunt informed me of—of everything, and naturally—"
"Let me explain," I began.