Then it was discovered how easy it is to make jokes at a picnic. You can’t be stately and ceremonious sitting cross-legged on the grass, and balancing your plate on your knees; especially when, in consequence of there not being quite enough knives, you have to lend the one you are using to your next-door neighbor.
As usual, too, there were not quite enough plates and those dainty gentlemen, who went into fits if a fly fell into their wineglasses at the club, bent down on their hands and knees and washed plates in the river.
“And there is no rain,” said Lady Bell.
“Then one of us will have to fall into the river,” said the viscount, solemnly. “Must have rain or an accident at a picnic, you know. Will you have some more cream, Lady Earlsley?”
Lady Bell shook her head, laughingly.
“No, thanks; I have enjoyed it all immensely. Why cannot we have a picnic every day?”
But Una, who sat next her, had noticed that she scarcely touched anything.
“Let us go into Bushey Park, and turn savages,” said Dalrymple. “Halloa; speaking of savages, what a pity the Savage isn’t here. This is just in his line.”
Lady Bell bent down suddenly to take a flower from the cloth.
“Mr. Newcombe was detained in town,” she said, calmly; but Una could detect the faint quiver in her voice.