“Look here, Mrs. Vincelle!” he said, eagerly. “I’ve been talking to Miss Edna.... As long as your husband didn’t come out, you’re all more or less free, aren’t you? No plans made, I mean? Well, won’t you all be my guests on a little picnic?”
“I’m very sorry—” Claudine began, but he was not to be stopped.
“Why not?” he said. “It’s a hot afternoon, and I’ll show you a fine, cool spot. I’ll arrange everything. I’ll see to the supper, and everything else. All you have to do is just get your bathing suits—”
“Bathing!” said Edna. “I didn’t know there was any in this place!”
“There’s a wonderful swimming pool. And I can lend you a bathing suit,” he said, looking directly at Mr. MacGregor, to whom he had not been, and never was to be, introduced.
“I’m afraid we’re not the same size,” said Mr. MacGregor.
“Doesn’t matter. You can get into it. We can start about four and come home by moonlight.”
The girls were both frankly pleased with the idea; Claudine confessed to herself that it was an attractive prospect. But impossible! They couldn’t be the guests of this man, they couldn’t really, openly, admit that he existed. She looked covertly at Mr. MacGregor, hoping for support, for some grown-up, tactful remark that should help her to get away. But he had taken it for granted that Mr. Stephens was a friend of the family, and he wanted to go on that picnic.
“Some other time—” Claudine began, with her most condescending affability, but Edna broke in, with a wail.
“Oh, Mother, I’m so longing for a swim! Do let’s go!”