Then had come that unlucky note from Mellor; his grandfather's prompt reply to it; his own ineffective protest; and now this tongue-tiedness--this clumsy intrusion--which she must feel to be an indelicacy--an outrage.
Suddenly he heard Miss Harden saying, with penitent emphasis, "I _am_ stupid! I have left the scissors and the wire on the table at home; we can't get on without them; it is really too bad of me." "I will go for them," said Marcella promptly.

"Here is the hand-cart just arrived and some people come to help; you can't be spared.

I will be back directly." And, gathering up her black skirt in a slim white hand, she sped down the church, and was out of the south door before the Hardens had time to protest, or Aldous Raeburn understood what she was doing.
A vexed word from Miss Harden enlightened him, and he went after the fugitive, overtaking her just where his gun and dog lay, outside the churchyard.
"Let me go, Miss Boyce," he said, as he caught her up.

"My dog and I will run there and back." But Marcella hardly looked at him, or paused.
"Oh no!" she said quickly, "I should like the walk." He hesitated; then, with a flush which altered his usually quiet, self-contained expression, he moved on beside her.
"Allow me to go with you then.

You are sure to find fresh loads to bring back.