"All right," he said, "we'll be off. But don't you go saying we didn't tell you the truth, that's all."
"You have told me nothing," said the aunt, "none of you, except that little boy, who has told me a silly falsehood."
"We meant well," said Gerald gently. "You don't mind our having come through the grounds, do you? we're very careful not to touch anything."
"No visitors are allowed," said the aunt, glancing down at her novel rather impatiently.
"Ah! but you wouldn't count us visitors," said Gerald in his best manner. "We're friends of Mabel's. Our father's Colonel of the —th."
"Indeed!" said the aunt.
"And our aunt's Lady Sandling, so you can be sure we wouldn't hurt anything on the estate."
"I'm sure you wouldn't hurt a fly," said the aunt absently. "Goodbye. Be good children."
And on this they got away quickly.
"Why," said Gerald, when they were outside the little court, "your aunt's as mad as a hatter. Fancy not caring what becomes of you, and fancy believing that rot about the motor lady!"
"I knew she'd believe it when I wrote it," said Mabel modestly. "She's not mad, only she's always reading novelettes. I read the books in the big library. Oh, it's such a jolly room—such a queer smell, like boots, and old leather books sort of powdery at the edges. I'll take
