“What a bother!” exclaimed Trevor. “Then you must go round by the lodge. Suppose we cut across the wood for a change, and come out on the Haverstock Road? It’s hardly any further, and it’s a much pleasanter way.”
Geneviève seemed to care little where he led her. It was enough for her to be in his company. So they made their way across the wood, trampling down the tall bracken and foxgloves as they went, for there was no path in this direction, startling the pretty wild creatures whose haunts they approached too unceremoniously.
“Isn’t it a pretty place,” said Trevor, standing still for a moment. “Hark, there’s the cuckoo!”
“Where?” said Geneviève, staring about her in all directions, but seeing nothing but the bright eyes of a little rabbit, as he looked about him for a moment, before running out of the way of these strange visitors, the like of whom had never come within his experience before.
Mr. Fawcett began to laugh.
“Where?” he repeated. “Where he always is. Listen, don’t look. You have not such sharp ears as Cicely, Miss Casalis! Are there no cuckoos at Hivèritz?”
“I don’t know,” replied Geneviève. Then she relapsed into silence.
Mr. Fawcett looked at her uneasily, and seemed once or twice on the point of speaking, but ended by walking on in silence too.
A few minutes brought them to the edge of the wood, then a quarter of a mile down a pretty shady lane, and they would be on the high-road. Trevor made one or two trifling observations, but Geneviève scarcely replied to them. Then he began to lose patience.
“Are you vexed with me again, Miss Casalis?” he said. “I am very unlucky to-day. I seem to do nothing but vex you, and you don’t seem in as good spirits as usual.”