"I'd love to," said Miss Lambert. "I haven't been up the river for ages; let's have a picnic."
"Yes, let's; what day could you come?"
"Any day—at least some day. Some day next week—only father is going away next week, and a picnic would be nothing without him."
"Suppose you and I and Verneede went for a picnic next week?"
"That would be fun," said the girl; "we can make tea—oh, don't let us talk of picnics, I feel miserable. Will he eat me, do you think?"
"Who?"
"Mr Hancock."
"Not he—unless he has the gout, he's perfectly savage when he has the gout—I say?"
"What?"
"You'd better not tell him you know me."