7
I got hold of Mrs Grose as soon after this as I could; and I can give no intelligible account of how I fought out the interval. Yet I still hear myself cry as I fairly threw myself into her arms: “They know – it’s too monstrous: they know, they know!”
“And what on earth—?” I felt her incredulity as she held me.
“Why, all that we know – and heaven knows what else besides!” Then, as she released me, I made it out to her, made it out perhaps only now with full coherency even to myself. “Two hours ago, in the garden” – I could scarce articulate – “Flora saw!”
Mrs Grose took it as she might have taken a blow in the stomach. “She has told you?” she panted.
“Not a word – that’s the horror. She kept it to herself! The child of eight, that child!” Unutterable still, for me, was the stupefact
