“Yes, it’s me,” said Patricia, and followed the woman to the door.
“I heard a lot of noise, and wondered what it was all about,” Miss Girton explained. “Do you know?”
“There’s been some excitement. . . .”
It was all Patricia could think of on the spur of the moment.
She had forgotten the damage inflicted on her clothes and her person by the game of hide-and-seek in the shrubbery, and was at first surprised at the way Miss Girton stared at her in the light of the hall. Then she looked down at her torn skirt and the scratches on her arms.
“You don’t seem to have missed much,” remarked the older woman grimly.
“I can’t explain just now,” said a weary Patricia. “I’ve got to think.”
She went into the drawing-room and sank into a chair. Her guardian took up a position before her, legs astraddle, manlike, hands deep in the pockets of her coat, waiting for the account that she was determined to have.
“If Bittle’s been getting fresh——”
“It wasn’t exactly that,” said the girl. “I’m quite all right. Please leave me alone for a minute.”