Once I thought I caught a glimpse of her and gave chase, but it was a mistake.

It must be getting late. Coming here would have taken half an hour and I must have been here an hour and now there was the journey back.

I went to the omnibus stop and waited. What a long time I waited! I was getting frantic. Silly Esmeralda! I thought, finding some comfort in blaming her. Stupid little thing! Why couldn't she have stayed with me?

At last the omnibus arrived. What was I going to say? What trouble there would be! How could she have found her way home? Oh, what had happened to Esmeralda!

I descended from the omnibus and made my way to the house, intending to creep in by the servants' entrance. I saw with a shudder that the red awning was up and the red carpet down and that guests were arriving. I ran round to the back of the house. Rose was the one to find. She would be most sympathetic. She might well be in the mews, because the Carrington coachman would be there and she wouldn't want to miss a moment of his company.

I went to the mews. She was not there. Oh dear, the only thing for me to do was to go to the house and confess to the first person I saw. Cook? She would be blustering in the kitchen putting the last-minute touches to the dinner. Nanny Grange perhaps, because she knew that I had what she called reckless blood in me and wouldn't blame me so much for what I had done. "It's her blood," she would whisper knowledgeably.

I went in through the servants' entrance. No one seemed to be about. I made my way up the stairs to the hall and then I heard voices.

A policeman stood there, respectful, competent and reassuring, and beside him, looking very small in comparison, was a pale-faced Esmeralda.

"Found wandering," the policeman was saying. "Lost. We brought her home as soon as she told us where, Ma'am."

It was like a tableau and one I believed I should never forget.

Cousin Agatha, aglitter in a low-cut gown twinkling with emeralds and diamonds, and Cousin William Loring, immaculate in his evening clothes, had been brought down to the hall from the top of the staircase where they had been receiving their guests to receive instead their truant daughter brought home by a policeman.

Several guests stood on the stairs. The Carringtons were just arriving—Mr. Carrington, Lady Emily and the great Rollo.

I noticed the intense mortification in every line of Cousin Agatha's statuesque form; her emerald earrings quivered with passionate indignation. Esmeralda began to cry.

"It's all right now, Missy," said the policeman.

"My dear," said Lady Emily, "what on earth has happened?"

Cousin William began: "Our daughter was lost..." But he was immediately silenced by Cousin Agatha.

"Where is Nanny? What has she been doing? Esmeralda, go to your room."

Esmeralda saw me suddenly through her tears and cried: "Ellen."

Cousin Agatha turned and her basilisk gaze was directed straight at me.

"Ellen!" she said in a voice full of evil omen.

I came forward. "We only went to the market," I began.

"Wilton!" There he was, urbane, discreet in all his butlerian dignity.

"Yes, Madam," he said. "I will have the young ladies taken to the nursery." And to the policeman: "If you would care to follow me you will be refreshed and our appreciation shown to you. Ah, Madam, here is Nanny."

Nanny Grange appeared; she took me by one hand and Esmeralda by the other. Her anger was apparent in the grip of her fingers. I would have some explaining to do, I was sure, but at the moment I could only be relieved that Esmeralda was safe. There was one other thing that impressed itself on me. And that was the interested blue stare of the Great Rollo. His eyes were fixed temporarily on me. I wondered what he was thinking as Nanny hustled us up the stairs. Guests looked at us curiously. Some of them smiled. Then we were mounting the second stairs on up to the nursery.

"We only thought we'd like to see the market," I explained. "This could well cost me my job," muttered Nanny Grange venomously. "And I know who was at the bottom of this, Miss Ellen, and don't you go trying to put it on Miss Esmeralda. She was led." Esmeralda murmured: "I wanted to go, Nanny." "You were led," said Nanny. "Don't I know Miss Ellen?" "Well, it was my idea," I said. "And you shouldn't blame Esmeralda."

"What Madam is going to say to you, Miss, I don't know. But I wouldn't like to be in your shoes."

We were sent to bed without supper—not that we cared about that—and I lay in bed wondering what life was like in orphanages.

Rosie came in late that night just as the guests were leaving. She was bright-eyed—the way she looked when she had been enjoying the company of her coachman. She sat on the edge of the bed and giggled.

"You are a one. You didn't ought to have took Miss Esmeralda. She was sure to get lost or something."

"How was I to know she'd be so silly!"

"And to go off on your own like that. My word, you're in for trouble."

"I know," I said.

"Well, cheer up. Worse troubles at sea, as my first intended used to say. He was a sailor."

"What's an orphanage like?"

Rosie's face softened suddenly. "My cousin Alice was brought up in one. Quite the lady. Went governessing. No common housemaiding for her. Lots of company. There are a good many orphans in the world." She stooped down and kissed me. I knew she was trying to comfort me. She had been happy with her coachman and wanted all the world to be as happy as she was.

I supposed I'd be all right at the orphanage.

Cousin Agatha sent for me next morning. She looked as though she had had a sleepless night.

"Such conduct," she was saying. "Do you know I despair of you? I know that these inclinations come to you. It's in the blood, but as I said to Mr. Loring, what can we do with the child? Most people would send you away. After all we have our own daughter to consider. But blood is thicker than water and you are of our family. You try our patience sorely, Ellen—mine and Mr. Loring's. I must warn you that you will have to mend your ways if you wish to stay under our roof."

I said I hadn't known Esmeralda would get lost and if she hadn't no one would have known we had been to the market.

"Such deceit," she cried, "is intolerable. I am glad that Esmeralda did get lost—even though it ruined my evening. At least we know what a wicked child we have under our roof."

She had given Nanny instructions that I was to stay in my room until I had learned the Quality of Mercy speech from The Merchant of Venice. Perhaps that would teach me to be grateful for those who had—and let it be remembered that this could well be the last time—shown mercy towards me. I should have nothing but bread and water until I had perfected the piece, and while I was in seclusion I might well reflect on the havoc I had wrought. "What the Carringtons thought of you, I can't imagine. I shall not be surprised if you are not allowed to be with Philip again."

I was dismissed and learned my piece in a very short time. Later Cousin Agatha discovered that I loved poetry and it was no hardship to me to learn it; then I was given needlework to do, which was another matter. To read and reread beautiful arrangements of words delighted me; to cobble stitches was torture. But she had at that time to discover this.

Poor Esmeralda could not learn her piece half as quickly as I could and when she was obliged to say it before our governess I crept close to her and prompted her through it.

By Christmastime the affair of the market began to be forgotten. Philip appeared during school holidays and he was allowed to play with us in the Park. I told him about the market and how Esmeralda had got lost and in an excess of contempt he pushed her into the Serpentine. Esmeralda screamed and Philip stood on the bank laughing at her while I waded in and dragged her to the bank. Then Nanny Grange came along and we were all hustled back to the house to get our wet things off before we caught our deaths.

"I'll be blamed for that," I told Philip.

"Serve you right," he cried. He didn't care a bit if Esmeralda caught her death. He added to me: "You wouldn't. You're not so silly as she is."

When Esmeralda did catch a cold Nanny Grange reported the incident to some of the servants; I knew they were all of the opinion that I had pushed Esmeralda into the water.

Poor Esmeralda! I'm afraid we were very careless of her. It was not exactly that Philip and I banded together against her, but simply that she lacked our adventurous spirit and we were too young to respect the fact that she was different from ourselves. I remember how terrified she was of Dead Man's Leap. The very name was enough to strike terror into the timid and it certainly did to Esmeralda. This particular spot was not far from Trentham Towers. There was a climb up to it and at the peak the drop was considerable; it really was dangerous, for the narrow path was right on the edge of the steep drop and during wet weather was treacherously slippery. All along the path through the woods there were warning notices such as "At Own Risk" and "Road Unsafe"—just the sort of thing to spur on people like Philip and myself.

It was not only a dangerous spot, it was also uncanny, for it was said to be haunted because of the number of people who had committed suicide there. There was a saying in the neighborhood if anyone looked melancholy. "What's the matter with you? Thinking of jumping off Dead Man's Leap?"

This was therefore a favorite spot of ours and we jeered at Esmeralda if she showed any reluctance in accompanying us. Philip liked to stand on the very edge of this precipice to show how intrepid he was, and of course I had to do the same.

Once we were seen there and when this was reported to the tutor who was coaching Philip at the time, we were forbidden to go; but this naturally only made the place more desirable, and it became a meeting place for us. "See you at Dead Man's Leap," Philip would say casually, half hoping I would be afraid to go there by myself. I always went when thus challenged, although I was a little scared, for the place did have an eerie atmosphere, particularly when one was there alone.

Time started to pass very quickly, but there was one other incident in our childhood which brought me notoriety and I think I did give Cousin Agatha the justification to be rid of me. I was fourteen—at an age when I should have known better. Philip was fifteen and this happened in the country.

Philip wanted to have tea out of doors. We would make a fire and boil a kettle on it and live like Indians or Gypsies—he wasn't sure which it would be—whatever seemed best at the time. The great thing was to make a fire. We needed a kettle, which I had to bring.

"There are lots in your kitchen," said Philip. "There must be. Bring some tea and water in a bottle, and cakes. And we'll make a fire."

I made Esmeralda get the cakes from the kitchen and I got the kettle. Philip was bringing paraffin, which he said was fine for making fires.

"We'd better be Gypsies," he said. "We've kidnapped Esmeralda. She has been spirited out of her house and we'll tie her up and ask a ransom for her."

Esmeralda wailed: "Can't I be a Gypsy?"

"No, you can't," said Philip tersely. Poor Esmeralda! She was always cast for the victim.

The outcome of that adventure was that we had reckoned without the paraffin. Philip had collected some bracken and poured the oil liberally over it. The blaze first delighted us and then alarmed us. We couldn't get near it, and Esmeralda, both her ankles tied together, a gag over her mouth, very uncomfortable and longing to be allowed to play another part, was very near to it.

We tried to beat out the flames but they spread. I had the foresight to untie Esmeralda and by that time it seemed as though the whole field was ablaze.

There was nothing to be done but call for help. All the servants were busy trying to beat it out and to prevent its spreading to the cornfields.

There was great trouble about that.

"And on the Carringtons' land," said Cousin Agatha, as though we had desecrated some sacred temple. It was fortunate that one of the Carringtons had been involved but Cousin Agatha laid most of the blame on me.

I heard her say to Cousin William: "It is quite clear that Ellen is unmanageable. Into what disaster she will lead Esmeralda next I tremble to think."