Her face was full of animation now, and her eyes shone. Her grey hair and black Gainsborough hat framed the vivid cheeks of youth. The way she tilted her parasol as she spoke had something adventurous, almost hoydenish.

“Come, Wolf, let’s get that turf,” said Mrs. Solent. “We must ask Valley where he keeps his spade.”

As Wolf turned to follow his mother on this impetuous quest, he caught sight of Gerda, struggling with the strap of her shoe, as she propped herself with one hand upon Redfern’s headstone. There was such a look of defiant anger on her face that he halted irresolutely.

“Oh, go, if you want to, Wolf!” she cried. “I’m sure I don’t want to keep you. It isn’t often, though, that I get a chance of enjoying myself, working like I do in that dark kitchen all the time!”

Mrs. Solent gave her a steady, surprised stare.