She was perpetually recurring, too, to the charming walk we had had
together to Church Scarsdale, and proposing a repetition of that delightful
excursion, which, you may be sure, I evaded, having by no means so
agreeable a recollection of our visit.
One day, as I was dressing to go out for a walk, in came good Mrs. Rusk,
the housekeeper, to my room.
'Miss Maud, dear, is not that too far for you? It is a long walk to Church
Scarsdale, and you are not looking very well.'
'To Church Scarsdale?' I repeated; 'I'm not going to Church Scarsdale; who
said I was going to Church Scarsdale? There is nothing I should so much
dislike.'
'Well, I never!' exclaimed she. 'Why, there's old Madame's been down-stairs
with me for fruit and sandwiches, telling me you were longing to go to
Church Scarsdale----'
'It's quite untrue,' I interrupted. 'She knows I hate it.'
'She does?' said Mrs. Rusk, quietly; 'and you did not tell her nothing
about the basket? Well--if there isn't a story! Now what may she be
after--what is it--what _is_ she driving at?'
'I can't tell, but I won't go.'
'No, of course, dear, you won't go.
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