that Grizel knew it was she. But when she came to a seat embowered in a clump of bushes, without looking round, she pointed to it, left the path and walked round the clump. To her joy Grizel and Symons sat down on the seat; and through the bushes she saw Symons, who was a keen student of manners, plunge eagerly into the novel she had brought with her, while Grizel, sitting sidewise on the seat, with her arm over the back of it, peered quietly into the clump.
But Pollyooly could not go through the clump, contact with London bushes would ruin her frock. She stole very quietly to the corner of the clump and peeped round it. Grizel smiled at her without stirring; Symons remained buried in her novel. Pollyooly held up the bunch of violets, laid them on the turf at the corner of the clump, and slipped back behind it.
Grizel said, "I believe there's a bird's nest in the corner of these bushes, Symons."
Symons, an urban soul, grunted indifference.
Grizel walked to the corner of the clump, picked up the violets, and blew a kiss to the vanishing Pollyooly.
