“Lovely place for botanists,” said Vane, merrily.
“Then I’m thankful I’m not a botanist.”
“Where are the others?” asked Vane.
“I don’t know. Distin wanted to lie down in the shade as soon as we reached the edge of the wood, and Gil wouldn’t leave him, out of civility.”
“Then you didn’t come rabbit-shooting?”
“Rabbit-grandmothering! We only came for a walk, and of course I didn’t want to sit down and listen to Distin run down England and puff the West Indies, so I wandered off into the wood and lost myself.”
“What, there too?”
“Yes, and spent my time thinking about you.”
“What! Because you wanted me to act as guide?”
“No, I didn’t: it was because I got into a part where the oak trees and fir trees were open, and there was plenty of grass. And there I kept on finding no end of toadstools such as you delight in devouring.”