Still one can never tell; therefore I took the benefit of the doubt and set forth to make sure.
When perhaps two miles from Sundridge, the day being warm, I climbed to a ledge of rock on the shelving bank of the bourne, twelve or fifteen feet above the path, and sat down to rest in the cool shade of a clump of bushes.

Below me, perhaps five or six feet above the path and far enough back among the bushes to be hidden from passers-by, was another rocky shelf or bench, admirably fitted to accommodate two persons.
Sarah had told me, after much questioning, that Frances had left home only a few minutes before Sir Richard and I had returned.

I had walked rapidly, and as I had not overtaken her, I concluded I was on the wrong scent.
Within ten minutes I discovered that I was not on the wrong scent, for, much to my surprise, sorrow, and disgust, I saw Frances and Hamilton come around a turn in the path, push aside the bushes as though they knew the place, enter the dense thicket bordering the path, and sit down on the rocky bench beneath me.

My first impulse was to speak, but for many reasons I determined to listen.

Silence reigned below me during the next minute or two, and then Hamilton spoke:-- "You must deem me a coward, Mistress Jennings, since I did not call your cousin to account for what he said yesterday ?" "No," she answered.