“Look here, Elsie,” he said boldly, “do you forgive me?”
Something in his voice told her that mere verbal fencing would be useless.
“Yes,” she murmured with a wistful smile. “I’ll forgive, but I can’t forget—for a long time.”
On the lawn they encountered Mrs. Saumarez. Learning from Angèle why the trio had dispersed so suddenly, she was coming to attend to Martin herself.
The vicar joined them.
“Really,” he said, “some sort of ill luck is attached to that swing to-day.”
And then Françoise appeared, to tell them that tea was ready.
“What curious French she talks,” commented the smiling Elsie.
“Yes,” cried Angèle tartly. “Bad French, eh? And I know heaps and heaps of it.”
She caught Mr. Herbert’s eye, and added an excuse: