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said. “Caroline.” As though he had to give a little thought to the matter before he could remember my name.
    “Good evening, Papa,” I said.
    “You seem in a great hurry.”
    “Oh no, Papa.”
    “You saw the procession yesterday?”
    “Oh yes, Papa.”
    “What did you think of it?”
    “It was wonderful.”
    “It is something for you to remember as long as you live.”
    “Oh yes, Papa.”
    “Tell me,” he said, “what most impressed you … of everything you saw?”
    I was nervous as always in his presence and when I was nervous I said the first thing which came into my head. What had impressed me most? The Queen? The Crown Prince of Germany? The Kings of Europe? The bands? The truth was that it was that poor horse which had run amok, and before I had realized it I had blurted out: “It was the mad horse.”
    “What?”
    “The er—the accident.”
    “What accident?”
    I bit my lip and hesitated. I was remembering that my mother had implied that it would be better not to talk of it. But I had gone too far to retract.
    “The mad horse?” he was repeating. “What accident?”
    There was nothing for it but to explain. “It was that horse which ran wild. It hurt a lot of people.”
    “But you were nowhere near it. That happened in Waterloo Place.”
    I flushed and hung my head.
    “So you were in Waterloo Place,” he said. “That was not as I thought.” He went on murmuring: “Waterloo Place. I see … I think I see.” He looked different somehow. His face had turned very pale and his eyes glittered oddly. I should have thought he looked bewildered and a little frightened, but I dismissed the thought; he could never be that.
    He turned away and left me standing there.
    I went to the schoolroom. I had done something terrible, I knew.
    I was beginning to understand. The manner in which we had gone there in the first place when we thought we were going somewhere else … it was significant, the way Captain Carmichael had been expecting us, the looks he and my mother exchanged …
    What did it mean? I knew the answer somewhere at the back of my mind. There are things the young know … instinctively.
    And I had betrayed them.
    I could not speak of it. I drank my milk and nibbled my bread and butter without noticing what I was doing.
    “Caroline is absent-minded tonight,” said Miss Bell. “I know. She is thinking of all she saw yesterday.”
    How right she was!
    I said I had a headache and escaped to my room. Miss Bell usually read with us, each taking turns for a page—for half an hour after supper. She thought it was not good for us to go to bed immediately after taking food, however light.
    I thought I would get into bed and pretend to be asleep when Olivia came up, so that I should not have to talk to her. It was no use sharing suspicions with her. She would refuse to consider them—as she always did everything that was not pleasant.
    I had taken off my dress and put on my dressing gown. I was about to plait my hair when the door opened and to my dismay Papa came in.
    He looked quite unlike himself. He was very angry and he still wore that rather bewildered look. He seemed sad too.
    He said: “I want a word with you, Caroline.”
    I waited.
    “You went to Waterloo Place, did you not?”
    I hesitated and he went on: “You need not fear to betray anything. I know. Your mother has told me.”
    I was obviously relieved.
    He continued: “It was decided on the spur of the moment that you would get a better view from Waterloo Place. I don’t agree with that. You would have been nearer at either of the others which had been offered. But you went to Waterloo Place and were entertained by Captain Carmichael. That’s so, is it not?”
    “Yes, Papa.”
    “Did you not wonder why the plans had been changed so abruptly?”
    “Well, yes … but Mama said it would be better at Waterloo Place.”
    “And Captain Carmichael was prepared for you, he provided luncheon.”
    “Yes, Papa.”
    “I