“It was all right, I assure you,” said Oliver, who was just behind. “Mrs Wyngate wanted to see the large stalactites, and when we turned round, Miss Wentworth had disappeared.—It was you, I think, who went another way, not we,” he added good-naturedly.
And so it was, for Imogen, annoyed at finding that Major Winchester was not following, and that she was to be left to the semi-guardianship of Oliver, had turned, with the intention of retracing her steps to the outer world; and not till she had proceeded some little distance did she discover that she was diving farther into the dim, almost black recesses of the cavern. Then she got frightened, and welcomed effusively the apparition of Trixie and her satellites.
“I don’t see how you can say it was all right,” said Imogen coldly. “People have been lost in caves, as Miss Forsyth says.”
“Not in Tor Cave,” said Oliver. “It’s not really deep a bit. I’ll show you a plan of it when we get home. You couldn’t have helped coming out again in a minute or two.”
“But I can quite understand your having been frightened, and I only hope you have not caught cold,” said Rex with real concern in his voice. “I should say the best thing to be done under the circumstances is to walk home as briskly as possible. A cup of hot tea will be an excellent preventive of harm, as soon as we get in.”
“We shall not be satisfied with walking, thank you,” said Trixie. “We’ve got the dogs Gunner and Plunger with us, tied to a gate over there,” and she nodded her head in a direction behind where they stood, “and we mean to have a good race with them.—Won’t you come with us, Imogen?”
Then she got frightened, and welcomed effusively the apparition of Trixie and her satellites.
“Oh do,” said Mabella, insinuatingly. “I’ll take one hand and Mr Calthorp the other, as Trixie will have enough to do with the beasts. So you shan’t come to grief even when we go at full-speed down Grey Bray.—Noll, won’t you come?”
“Many thanks, no,” said Oliver, dryly. Something in his tone made Imogen hesitate in the acceptance of the invitation she had been on the point of. She glanced half longingly towards Beatrix; but before she had time to speak, before Florence had time to break in with what, though well-meant, would probably have been an entirely ineffectual remonstrance, Major Winchester took the matter in his own hands.
“Miss Wentworth has had fatigue enough,” he said. “I know what your ‘good races’ are, Trixie. Besides which, I promised Mrs Wentworth to bring her daughter safely home.”