“Well, Miss, perhaps she would. Would you like Ben and Dan to go along and look for her!”
“I wish they would,” said Angela.
Ben and Dan were rotated out of their lairs in the back part of the premises, and were only too charmed to do Angela’s bidding. They flew off, fleet as a pair of little hares, down the shady lanes, looking in vain for Nesta.
But it was Angela herself who at last found her. She had decided not to drive in her carriage, for the sound of wheels, and the rhythmic beat of the ponies’ feet might startle the girl, and if she really meant to hide, might make her hide all the more securely. No, she would walk. So she gathered up her white skirt and walked down the summer lanes. By-and-by she thought she heard a noise which was different from the song of the birds, and the rushing of the waters, and the varied hum of innumerable bees. She stood quite still. It was the sound of distress, it was a sob, and the sob seemed to come from the throat of a girl. Angela stepped very softly. She went over the long grass and came to a tree, and at the foot of that tree lay a girl, her face downward, her whole figure shaken with sobs. Angela laid her hand on her.
“Why, Nesta!” she said. “How silly of Nesta to be afraid.”
The words were so unexpected that Nesta jumped to her feet; then covered her face, then flung herself face downwards again and sobbed more piteously than ever.
“I have found you, Nesta, and nobody is going to be in the least bit angry with you. May I sit by you for a little?”
“You are Miss St. Just—you are the person everybody worships and makes a fuss over. I don’t want you. Go away.”
“I am sorry you don’t want me, but I am not going away. I am going to stay by you; may I?”
Nesta could not refuse. Angela sat down. Ben and Dan peeped their round childish faces over the top of the hedge and saw Angela sitting by Nesta’s side.