"I'm turning the cart. We've come the wrong way."
"This is the way we were going before. We're going to Anderby."
"Yes, but we want to go to Hardrascliffe."
She must humour him.
"We don't want to go to Hardrascliffe. You were wanting to go to Anderby. So was I, though I didn't know it. How far is it?"
"Three miles, but——"
"Please go on. Is it on my account you want to turn back? Because if it is, please don't. I'm quite all right. I suppose there's an inn or something there where I can stay the night. And I'm quite well. Only muddy. I had this cold before I fell," he added apologetically.
"But, really"—Mary was only half reassured—"where were you going? You must have been going somewhere."
"I really don't know where I was going. I suppose I was lost. But now I'm going to Anderby. Once I've made up my mind to do things I always do them. And really, in a wet March, one village is much the same as another."
"But what are you doing?"