"Wynifred," said Miss Ellen.
The girl looked up quickly.
"It is such a lovely day, dear; why don't you go for a walk?"
"I did not like to leave you, Miss Willoughby; not that I am very enlivening company."
"You will be much more enlivening if you can bring me news of the primroses beginning to bloom in the woods. Get your hat and be off, bring back a pair of pink cheeks and an appetite, or you won't be admitted."
Wynifred rose slowly and folded her work. Painfully Miss Ellen recalled words that Henry Fowler had spoken last year as he watched the blithe young company out at tea on the terrace:—Elsa, the Allonbys, young Haldane, and Claud Cranmer.
"How those Allonby girls do enjoy themselves!" he had said.
Their enjoyment was infectious, it was so spontaneous, so fresh. The change was acute.
"What is to be done with her?" pondered Miss Willoughby, as the girl went out, apathetically closing the door behind her.
Hardly knowing why, Wynifred chose the road that led inland, along the further side of the valley, to Poole Farm.