“Where did she come from?”
“I don’t know,” said Dalrymple, in the same tone. “I’d stick to water all the day if she’d let me drink it out of the same cup. Isn’t she beautiful—perfectly lovely!”
“Hush, she’ll hear you,” muttered Sir Arkroyd, warningly.
But he need not have feared.
Una sat like the dream-maiden in the ballad, deaf to all but the plash of the oars and the music of the birds.
Presently the stately pile of Hampton Court Palace glided, as it were, into their view, and with a long pull Dalrymple sent the boat to the island.
The two other boats were close behind, and then these grand people who were accustomed to be waited on hand and foot, got out and dragged hampers under the shadow of the oaks and willows; and the countess and Lady Clarence laid the cloth, while Lady Bell and the rest knelt beside the hampers and pulled out the things one by one. Then Sir Arkroyd was sent to lay the champagne bottles in the shallow water, and Dalrymple was handed a dish and the ingredients for making the salad.
In a few minutes luncheon was set out to the accompaniment of much laughter, and a few accidents. One of the champagne bottles had slid into the deep water, and disappeared to the bottom of the river to astonish the fish. The corkscrew followed it; and dismay fell on all, until the viscount calmly produced another from his pocket.
“Never go to a picnic without a corkscrew,” he said, shaking his head. “Generally have to produce it, too.”
Then there was much dragging about of hampers, and arranging of shawls and boat cushions to provide seats for the ladies; but at last all were seated, and Dalrymple, brandishing a knife in dangerous proximity to Lady Pierrepoint’s head, cut the first slice of raised pie.