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The sergeant had not seen it for he understood nothing of what she told him. When next he asked for her, some twelve hours later, he was told that Mademoiselle had left. Arrived at Westbourne-Green—then nothing more than a common covered with gorse and furzebushes, and boasting only a couple of cottages and an alehouse—he perceived through the hedges the objects of his search slowly ascending the gentle hill that rises from KensallGreen. Probably he taught me what a joke was merely to irritate my father; for suddenly Father stopped my going to the store for things and sent our old Kanaka cook instead. “Idiotic, isn’t it?” “Absolutely,” she agreed coldly.
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