The thought took away from her all her former reticence, and made her action bold.

She started from her seat.

If the little breach, quarrel, or whatever it might be called, of yesterday, was to be healed up it must be done by her on the instant.

She crossed into the orchard, and clambered through the gap after Giles, just as he was diminishing to a faun-like figure under the green canopy and over the brown floor.
Grace had been wrong--very far wrong--in assuming that the letter had no reference to herself because Giles had turned away into the wood after its perusal.

It was, sad to say, because the missive had so much reference to herself that he had thus turned away.