She never took much enjoyment in adventures, anyway, she said, because her imagination was always busy with the appearance of her acts. She found herself considering: "How will this look? What gossip will that start?" She hated herself for the cold, calculating instinct; but she could not rid herself of it.
"This very minute," she admitted, "my fun is half spoiled by thinking of what those people down there in the house will say if they learn that I've been up here with you? Nothing could be more harmless than a stroll before breakfast in a highly illuminated forest, but they'd talk and—well, I'd rather they wouldn't."
She led the protesting Forbes homeward again, down the long flight of steps. The most he could exact was the promise of another walk together—sometime when it could be arranged without attracting attention or detracting from the duties toward the host and his other guests.
As they started across the lawn, whose dew the risen sun had pretty well imbibed, they met the gardener. Prout was yawning, and when he took off his hat he looked sleepy enough to fall over into it.
"You folks been up all night?" he asked, with a drowsy surliness.
Persis shook her head and smiled. "It's you that have overslept."
He changed the subject abruptly. "I just been buildin' a fire for Miss Mather."
"Good Lord, is she awake?" Persis gasped.
"Well," said Prout, "as to that, she's not wot you'd exackly call awake, but she's up an' doin' in the kitchin."
While the gardener shuffled away to play valet to his flowers, Persis stood irresolute.