I remember how they
used to fly from Nice and Florence--every one that we knew as
soon as it began to get hot."
"Yes, I have not much time to lose, and if I decide to go at
all, I shall start at once. But it is very doubtful."
They had reached the end of the field whilst talking; a heavy
gate separated it from a lane beyond, and the children, unable
to open it, had dispersed here and there along the bank,
hunting for primroses.
"Shall we go on?" said Graham, "or would you like to turn back
now? You look tired."
Madelon did not answer; what was the use of going on? What did
it matter? Everything came to the same end at last--a sense of
utter discouragement and weariness had seized her, and she
stood leaning against the gate, staring blankly down the road
before her. There were about twenty yards of shady, grassy
lane, and then it was divided by a cross-road, with a cottage
standing at one of the angles. Graham, who was looking at
Madelon, saw her face change suddenly.
"Why, there are----" she began, and then stopped abruptly,
colouring with confusion.
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