"But won't you give me a chance to speak to you later on?" gasped Graeme, "just for a second. It isn't anything to do with this wretched business. I mean I don't want you to marry me just because——"
Miss Mayne turned a tear-wet face towards him for one instant. "If you are what I once thought you were—if you even remotely resemble what I've always heard of Naval officers, you'll never, never broach this odious topic again, by word or letter or implication."
And with that she went off along the cliff, walking very fast with her head bent.
Mouldy Jakes fell to buttering a slice of bread.
Dies irae! And the night that followed, little better for most of the participators in that memorable picnic. Tears wetted two pillows at least; a third remained uncreased until the dawn by the head that ought to have lain there.
Cornelius James awoke on the morrow to manifold perplexities.
To Jane, his confidante in most tribulations, he unburdened himself after an early breakfast, what time Miss Mayne and Georgina, the former heavy-lidded and both uncommunicative, were putting finishing touches to the packing. The two children were taking a valedictory stroll round the farm.
"Miss Mayne's been crying," he observed gloomily. He abhorred tears.
Jane confirmed this with a nod that set her curls bobbing. "So's Georgie."
"I know." Cornelius James's tone was one of exasperation. "I'm sorry to be leaving Glebe Farm, but I don't cry about it. You're sorry, too, aren't you, Jane?"