Isabel looked perplexed and a little worried. Her nerves had suffered with the morning’s excitement and adventures, which in my case had only stimulated my curiosity and audacity.
“Perhaps so,” she replied; “but really, Regina, I wish you’d forget about it. I never felt so ashamed and frightened in my life as when we were hiding behind these bushes.”
“I do think you are exaggerating,” I said, gently I hope; for though I was rather provoked by her want of adventurous spirit, as I called it to myself, I was also sorry for her, and at the bottom of my heart I almost think I felt a little guilty for involving her in anything that her father would disapprove of. Possibly, too, though I did not acknowledge it to myself, the salve which I applied to my own misgivings was not altogether effectual, though I proceeded to use it for Isabel’s benefit.
“Don’t you see,” I continued, “we may perhaps be on the way to be of real use to these poor people by finding out a little more about them? I would not have minded—indeed I was almost hoping for it—if the cripple Mr Grey had seen us and asked what we wanted.”
“Oh,” exclaimed Isabel, “I should have died of shame!”
“Not at all,” I replied. “We could easily have said that we were tempted by the open doorway to take a look at the grounds; or even,” I proceeded, “we might have asked him if he knew that the door had been left open, as we felt sure it was not intended to be!”
“That would have been,” said Isabel sharply, “not—”
“You are not to say that it would have been untrue,” I interrupted rather indignantly. “It would only have been part of the truth, I allow, but still—”
“Oh, well, don’t let us quarrel about it,” said Isabel, smiling; “but I do think, Regina, we had better not continue our investigations; we might get ourselves, and possibly other people, into trouble somehow.”
“Ourselves perhaps,” I agreed, “but not other people, that I can see. And I don’t mind risking something myself, if it could do any good.”