But Chris was in an impetuous mood. She wanted to start upon her adventure without delay. Should they not explore first and have tea after? It should be exactly as she wished, he assured her. Was it not her fête?
But when at length she reached the shingle under the cliffs, she found a surprise in store for her that made her change her mind.
A white napkin was spread daintily upon a flat-topped rock, and on this were set a large pink and white cake and a box of fondants.
"Goodness!" ejaculated Chris.
"Merveilleux!" exclaimed the Frenchman.
She turned upon him. "Now, Bertie, you needn't pretend you are not at the bottom of it, for I am old enough to know better. No," as he shrugged his shoulders and spread out his hands, "it's not a bit of good doing that. It doesn't deceive me in the least. I know you did it, and you're a perfect dear, and it was sweet of you to think of it. It's the best picnic I ever went to. And you even thought of tea," catching sight of a small spirit-kettle that sang in a sheltered corner. "Let's have some at once, shall we? I'm so thirsty."
He had forgotten nothing. From a basket he produced cups, saucers, plates, knives, and arranged them on his improvised table.
Chris surveyed the cake with frank satisfaction. "What a mercy the gulls didn't seize it while your back was turned! Do cut it, quick!"
"No, no! You will perform that ceremony," smiled Bertrand.
"Shall I? Oh, very well. I expect I shall do it very badly. What lovely sweets! Did they come out of the Magic Cave? I hope they won't vanish before we come to eat them."