"No. But they'll be back for lunch," Ricky said. "If they remember lunch—they're getting so vague lately. Val went out to call them to dinner last night and it took him a good five minutes to get them out of the garden."
"Five? Nearer ten," scoffed her brother.
Holmes got up abruptly. "Well, I'll be drifting. When is this binge of yours?"
"Three-thirty, which really means four," answered Ricky. "Aren't you going to stay to lunch?"
The New Yorker shook his head. "Sorry, I've another engagement. Thanks just the same."
"Thank you!" Val waved the note-book as he vanished. "Wonder why he hurried off that way?"
"Mad to think that Miss Charity was gone," answered Rod shrewdly. "Yo've had that board long enough." He calmly possessed himself of Val's drawing equipment. "Time to rest."
"Yes, grandfather," his cousin assented meekly.
Ricky slapped at a fly. "It seems to get hotter and hotter," she said. From the breast pocket of her sport dress she produced a handkerchief and mopped her face. Then she looked at the handkerchief in surprise.
"What's the matter? Some face come off along with the paint?" asked Val.