The boy hesitated: "There's a gate farther on."

Coming to the gate, Percival rested his arms on it and looked at Robin. The
boy was not big for his age, but there was a good deal of cleverness in his
upturned freckled face. "I've a message for you," said the young man.

"From her?" Robin indicated the Blakes' house with a jerk of his head.

"Yes. She asked me to tell you that she is all right, though, of course,
she can't come out at present. She made sure I should find you somewhere
about."

Robin nodded: "I did try to hear how she was, but that old dragon--"

"Meaning my friend Mrs. Blake?" said young Thorne. "Ah! Hardly civil
perhaps, but forcible."

"Well--Mrs. Blake, then--caught me in the shrubbery and pitched into me.
Said I ought to be ashamed of myself. Supposed I should be satisfied when
I'd broken Lottie's neck. Told me I'd better not show my face there again."

"Well," said Percival, "you couldn't expect Mrs. Blake to be particularly
delighted with your afternoon's work. And, Wingfield, though I was
especially to tell you that you were not to vex yourself about it, you
really ought to be more careful. Knocking a young lady's eye half out--"

"Young lady!" in a tone of intense scorn. "Lottie isn't a _young lady_."

"Oh! isn't she?" said Percival.