Behind the Avenue was a little hill, and an iron-fenced path went over the crest of this to a stile under an elm-tree, and forked there, with one branch going back into the Avenue again. What do you think, Annabel?” “I don’t think they would,” she admitted. ” 209 Clotilde was no fool. ’ Mrs Ibstock’s lips tightened and she looked away a moment. "Where?" "That can wait," she answered. As usual the substantive sister—Prudence—did all the talking for the pair; Angelina, the shadow, offered only her submitting nods. She was going through with that, anyhow. Wood scarcely knew where he was.
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