"Of course not."
"You would really like it, Elizabeth?"
"Yes—yes. I will come with you. We can talk as we go home."
"We can. That was precisely my object in making the arrangement."
Eleanor, presiding over her crockery at a little distance, called to them to ask whether the water boiled—and they perceived that it did. Mr. Yelverton carried the kettle to the teapot, and presently busied himself in handing the cups—so refreshing at the close of a summer picnic, when exercise and sun and lunch together have resulted in inevitable lassitude and incipient headaches—and doling out slices of thin bread and butter as Patty deftly shaved them from the loaf. They squatted round amongst the fern fronds and tussocks, and poured their tea vulgarly into their saucers—being warned by Mr. Brion that they had no time to waste—and then packed up, and washed their hands, and tied on their hats, and shook out their skirts, and set forth home again, declaring they had had the most beautiful time. The large buggy started first, the host driving; and Mr. Yelverton was informed that another track would be taken for the return journey, and that he was to be very careful not to lose himself.
"If we do lose ourselves," said Mr. Yelverton, as his escort disappeared over the crest of the hill, and he still stood in the valley—apparently in no haste to follow—tucking a light rug over his companion's knees, "it won't matter very much, will it?"
"Oh, yes, it will," she replied anxiously. "I don't know the way at all."
"Very well; then we will keep them in sight. But only just in sight—no more. Will you have the hood up or down?"
"Down," she said. "The day is too lovely to be shut out."
"It is, it is. I think it is just about the most lovely day I ever knew—not even excepting the first of October."