The snowy damask of the tables laden with dainties and surrounded by a bevy of smart maidservants from the Manor made an inviting picture on the strip of verdure, and Montague Maynard's guests renewed their acclamations. Reggie Beauchamp, who had, of course, annexed Enid Mallory as his partner for the afternoon, expressed the opinion that it was "simply ripping."
"And, by Jove!" he added of malice aforethought, "look at that girl bossing the other maids. She seems to be in charge of the show. She is ripping too. Just the style of beauty I admire."
Enid cocked a sly eye at him, and catching the gleam of mischief refused to be drawn. "Yes," she said, following his gaze to the graceful brunette in black silk who was directing operations at the tables, conspicuous by the absence of apron and cap-streamers, "that is Louise Aubin, Violet Maynard's maid. She is certainly pretty, but she looks as if she had a temper. I shouldn't dare to find fault with her if she belonged to me."
"A bit of a spitfire, perhaps," assented the Lieutenant, finding that his harmless shaft had missed its mark. "Might give you beans with the brush, eh, if you slanged her for pulling out your hair by the roots?"
Miss Mallory sniffed contemptuously at the implied familiarity with the sacred rites of the dressing-table, and she might have expressed herself strongly on the subject had not their attention been distracted by the approach of a train along the embankment above them. It was beginning to shut off steam for the stop at Ottermouth Station, a mile further on, and the people in the carriages were plainly distinguishable by the picnic party.
Just as the train was sweeping past a cry from one of the third-class compartments drew all eyes that way. Looking up, the picnickers saw a man leaning from the window and frantically gesticulating—or, rather, vehemently pointing at some object on the marsh below. To those on the lower ground there was nothing visible to cause his agitation.
"What was that lunatic up to, and what was he howling about?" asked Reggie as the train disappeared round a curve.
"It sounded like 'the face of a fool,' so far as I could make out," Enid laughed.
"I don't think it was that," said Violet Maynard, who, with Leslie and Mr. Mallory in attendance, had come up behind them. "It struck me that the excited passenger's cry was more like 'the face in the pool.'"
"That was it, I expect," said Reggie lightly. "He must have seen the reflection of his own in one of those puddles of tidal water. That was the Ottermouth section of the London corridor express, which has a luncheon car attached. The Johnny had probably been indulging too freely in the conveniences of modern travel."