"Why did Tom run away so fast?" asked Phronsie, only half comprehending.
"Never mind, child," said Polly, with a reassuring pat on her head.
"And isn't Jasper coming back?" asked Phronsie, in great distress.
"Yes, oh, I guess so," said Polly. "Well, there, the pretty glow has all faded; see, Phronsie," pointing up to the leaden clouds that no one who had failed to see a few moments before could have imagined alive with colour. "Now we ought to run over to the others, for they'll be going back to the hotel."
"It's all gone," said Phronsie, sadly, looking up at the darkening sky.
"Polly, where has the pretty red and pink gone to?"
"Oh, I don't know," said Polly, thinking only of Tom, and what a hard time Jasper must be having with him. "Take care, Phronsie, don't look up now—you'll fall! There, take my hand; now come on."
"O dear me, I didn't mean to laugh," Adela was saying to herself as she fell back in the zig-zag path down the rocks. "I wish I hadn't—I'll—I'll—" What she meant to do wasn't very clear in her mind; what she did do, was to run up to her grandmother's and her room, and toss her sketch-book on the table, and herself on the bed, for a good hearty cry.
Polly found her there, when they couldn't find her anywhere else, with much searching and running about. Little old Mrs. Gray was worrying dreadfully, so afraid she had been blown from the rocks; for the wind had now risen, and all the travellers were seeking the shelter and warmth of the hotel corridor and parlours.
"Oh, Adela, how could you?" Polly was going to say. And then she thought that would be the very worst thing in all the world, for Adela's shoulders were shaking, and it would only make her cry worse. And besides, Polly remembered how she had sometimes given way in just this fashion, and how much worse she would have been, had it not been for a wise, good mother. So she ran out in the hall. "I must tell her grandmother," she said to herself.
"Have you found her?" asked Jasper, looking up from the foot of the staircase.