But fate, circumstance--give it any name that pleases--was in its
obstinate mood. That better acquaintance, it was determined, should
be made.
One afternoon, while Maurie was at his lessons, and her own work for
the day was over, she was walking through those apple orchards which
spread up to the side of that little lane which leads down off the
London Road. Supremely unconscious of whose property it was in which
she was wandering, she suddenly became aware of a figure descending
from one of the apple trees. The first thought that some one was
stealing the fruit was driven from her when she recognized Mr.
Grierson.
Before he had seen her, she had turned and hurried back in the
direction in which she had come. A break in the hedge had given her
entrance from the lane. She made as quickly as possible for that.
But the sound of footsteps running over the soft ground, the hissing
of the grass stems as they lashed against leather leggings, then the
sound of her name, showed her that it was too late. She turned.
"I saw you getting down from the tree," she said evasively, "but I
thought it was a man stealing fruit."
"So you made a bolt for it?"
"Yes; was it very cowardly?"
"Not at all.
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