Fabian, who has come with them, is lying full length upon the grass, with his hands behind his head, gazing dreamily at the glimpse of the far-off sea, that shows through the dark-green firs. Dulce's silvery laugh is waking an echo lower down. There is a great sense of rest and happiness in the hour.
A big, lazy bumblebee, tumbling sleepily into Portia's lap, wakes her into life. It lies upon her, looking larger and blacker than its wont, as it shows against the pallor of her gown. She starts, and draws herself up with a half-suppressed cry.
Fabian, lifting the bee from her knees, flings it high into the air, and sends it off on the errand it was probably bound on before it fell in love with Portia.
"How foolish of me to be frightened of it—pretty thing," she says, with a faint blush. "How black it looked."
"Everything frightens me," says Julia Beaufort pensively, "everything!"
"Do I?" asks Dicky Browne, in a tone full of abject misery. "Oh! say I don't."
"I meant insects you know, and frogs, and horrid things like that," lisps Julia. "And they always will come flying round one just on a perfect night like this, when"—sentimentally—"Nature is wrapt in its profoundest beauty!"
"I don't think I ever saw a frog fly," says Dicky Browne, innocently. "Is it nice to look at? Is it funny?"
"No! it's only silly—like you!" says Dulce throwing a rosebud at him, which he catches dexterously.
"Thank you," he says, meekly, whether for the speech or the flower, he leaves vague.