Martin was stubbornly silent.
“I agree with Mr. Martin,” Phyllis said. “It’s not a very cheerful game. If we didn’t say our thoughts we must have had some good reason for keeping them silent. Besides, I must speak to Lizzie about breakfast.”
“I’ll take the car to the stable.”
“Can I go with you?” Martin asked.
George had still cherished a forlorn hope that the world was large enough for him and Joyce to have a few moments alone. For several days the stable had been sanctified in his anticipation. In the hayloft above the old disused stalls there was a big doorway that opened toward the sea. That mustily fragrant place was his favourite retreat when solitude seemed urgent. There, he had thought, he and Joyce could talk. He had even put an old steamer rug on the hay so they might sit more comfortably. There would be moonlight over the water....
“Is it the same stable where we used to play as kids?” cried Ruth. “Oh, let’s all go. I want to see it again. Why, that old haymow was the first place Ben ever kissed me.”
“What did he do that for?” said Martin.
“Perhaps he’ll do it again,” said George bitterly. It was just like Ruth to ruin the stable for him.
“Well, I don’t want to spoil any one else’s plans,” said Ben.
“We could play hide-and-seek in the hay,” Martin suggested.