The wall was frustratingly high and as I walked along beside it I could only see the tower projecting above it. The view from the hilltop was much more revealing—only from that vantage point there was a sense of remoteness. Here one might be closer but the wall shut one out.

It seemed strange that when I was on the verge of going to a new country I should be so intrigued by an old house which I had never seen before and it seemed unlikely I should ever see again. Perhaps it was because I had been indifferent to everything for so long that I seized on this and believed I was more interested than I actually was.

As I walked, beside the wall I heard voices.

“Ellen has brought out the tea, Lucie.” It was a clear high voice, very pleasant and I longed to see its owner.

“I will see if Lady Cardew is ready,” said another voice, deeper, slightly husky.

They went on talking but their voices were lowered and I could not hear what they were saying. What sort of people, I wondered, lived in this house? I must discover. I was in such a strange mood that I had almost convinced myself that if I could see on the other side of the wall I would find two white-robed nuns—ghosts from the past.

An enormous oak tree spread its branches over the walls. Its acorns would surely fall on Whiteladies’ land. I studied the tree speculatively. I had not climbed a tree for some time. Such activities had not been encouraged at Danesworth House; but there was a fork which would make an adequate if not comfortable seat. I could not climb a tree. It was too undignified. Besides, what bad manners to spy on people. I fingered the soft silk scarf which my father had given me before he went to Australia; it was a soft shade of green and I loved it for itself in addition to the fact that it was one of his last gifts. I am sure he would have climbed the tree. Miss Emily would be horrified. That decided me—particularly as I heard the voices again.

“Are you feeling better. Mamma?” That was the clear young voice.

So I climbed to the fork of the tree which was just high enough to permit me to see over.

It was a beautiful scene. The grass was like green velvet, soft and smooth with an air of having been well tended through the centuries; there were flower beds containing roses and lavender; a fountain was throwing its silver spray over a white statue; the green shrubs had been cut into the shape of birds; a peacock strutted across the lawn displaying his magnificent tail while a plain little peahen followed in his glorious wake. It was a scene of utter peace. Close to the pond was a table laid for tea over which a big blue and white sunshade had been set; and seated at the table was a girl of about my age. She looked as though she were tall; she was certainly slender, a dainty Dresden figure. Her honey coloured hair hung in long ringlets down her back; her gown was of pale blue with white lace collar and cuffs. She fitted the scene perfectly. There was another woman; she must be Lucie, I decided. She was about ten years older than the girl; and in a bath chair was a woman whom I guessed to be “Mamma’, fair-haired like the girl, delicate and fragile-looking with the same Dresden quality.

“It’s pleasant in the shade. Mamma,” said the girl.

“I do hope so.” The voice was a little peevish.

“You know how the heat upsets me. Lucie, where are my smelling salts?”

I watched them talking together. Lucie had brought the chair closer to the girl who rose to make sure that the cushion behind Mamma’s head was in the best place. Lucie went across the lawn presumably to fetch the smelling salts. I imagined her to be a companion, a higher servant, perhaps a poor relation. Poor Lucie!

They were talking but I only heard their voices when the breeze carried them to me. This breeze, which could be strong when it blew, was intermittent. What happened next was due to it. The scarf about my neck had become loosened during my climb. I had not noticed this and as I leaned forward to see and hear better, it caught in a branch and was dragged from my neck. It hung lightly suspended on the tree but as I was about to take it a stronger gust of wind caught it and, snatching it from me, carried it over the wall mischievously as though to punish me for eavesdropping. It fluttered across the grass and came to rest close to the group at the tea table but they did not seem to see it.

I was dismayed, thinking of the occasion when my father had given it to me. I either had to call to them and ask them to give it to me or to lose it. I made up my mind that I could not shout to them from the tree. I would call at the house and concoct some story about its blowing over my head—which it had done—and I certainly would not tell them that inquisitiveness had made me climb a tree to spy on them.

I slid down to the foot of the tree and in my haste grazed my hand which started to bleed a little. While I was staring at it ruefully Stirling came towards me.

“Oak trees have, their uses,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“You know very well. You were spying on the tea party.”

“How could you know that unless you were spying too?”

“It’s less shocking for me to climb trees than girls, you know.”

“So you were spying on them.”

“No. Like you I was merely taking a polite look.”

“You were interested enough to climb a tree and look over the wall!”

“Let’s say my motives were similar to yours. But we have to retrieve the scarf. Come on. I’ll go with you. As your deputy-guardian I can’t allow you to enter a strange house alone.”

“How can we go in there?”

“Simple. You ask to see Lady Cardew and tell her that your scarf is lying on her beautiful lawn.”

“Do you think we should ask to see her? Perhaps we could tell one of the servants.”

“You are too retiring. No. We’ll go in boldly and ask for Lady Cardew.”

We had reached the gates. Stirling opened them and we went into a cobbled courtyard at the end of which was an archway. Stirling went through this; I followed. We were on the lawn.

I felt uneasy. This was most unconventional, but Stirling was unconventional and unused to our formal manners; and as we crossed the grass towards the party at the tea table and they looked up in blank astonishment, I realized how very extraordinary our intrusion must seem.

“Good afternoon,” said tuning.

“I hope we don’t disturb you. We have come to retrieve my ward’s scarf.”

The girl looked bewildered.

“Scarf?” she repeated.

“Oddly enough,” I said, trying to bring some normality into the scene, ‘it blew from my neck over your wall. “

They still looked startled but they couldn’t deny it because there was the scarf. Stirling picked it up and gave it to me; and as he did so he said: “What have you done to your hand?”

“Oh dear,” said the girl, ‘it’s bleeding. “

“I grazed it against a tree when I was trying to catch my scarf,” I stammered. Stirling was looking at me with amusement and I thought for a moment that he was going to tell them I had climbed a tree to look at them.

The girl appeared concerned. She had a sweet expression.

“Are you staying here?” asked the one named Lucie.

“I feel sure you don’t live here or we should know.”

“We’re at the Falcon Inn,” I said.

“Nora,” cut in Stirling quickly, ‘you are feeling faint. ” He turned to the girl.

“Perhaps she should sit down for a moment.”

“Certainly,” said the girl.

“Certainly. Your hand should be attended to. Lucie could bandage it for you, couldn’t you, Lucie?”

“But of course,” said Lucie meekly.

“You should take her into the house and bathe it. Take her to Mrs. Glee’s room. She is certain to have water on the boil, and I do think it should be washed.”

“Come with me,” said Lucie. I wanted to protest because I was interested in the girl and would have preferred to stay and talk with her.

Stirling had sat down and was being offered a cup of tea.

I followed Lucie across the lawn towards the house. We went through a heavy iron studded door and were in a stone walled corridor. Facing us was a flight of stairs.

Lucie led the way up these stairs to a landing.

“The housekeeper’s room is along here. This corridor leads to the servants’ hall.”

We went up a spiral staircase to a landing on which there were several doors. Lucie knocked at one of them and we were told to enter. On a spirit stove was a kettle of hot water, and a middle-aged woman in a black bombazine dress with a white cap on her thick greying hair was sitting in an armchair dozing. I guessed this to be Mrs. Glee and I was right. Lucie explained about the scarf and I showed my hand.

“It’s nothing but a light graze,” said Mrs. Glee.

“Miss Minta thinks it should be washed and dressed.”

Mrs. Glee grunted.

“Miss Minta and her bandages! There’s always something. Last week it was that bird. Couldn’t fly so Miss Minta took charge. Then there was that dog which was caught in a trap.”

I didn’t much care to be compared with a bird and a dog, so I said:

“Really there’s no need.” But Mrs. Glee ignored me and poured some water from the kettle into a basin. My hand was deftly washed and bandaged while I told them we were staying at the Falcon Inn and shortly leaving for Australia. When this was done I thanked Mrs. Glee and Lucie conducted me back to the lawn. I apologized as we went. I was afraid I was being rather a trouble, I said. It was no trouble, she informed me in such a way as to suggest in fact it was; but perhaps that was her manner.