“I mean we’re organising a picnic to Dartmoor, and we want to fix it so that you can come too. Didn’t you tell me that Sir Adrian was going to be away one day this week? Going away, and not returning till the next day?”
Claire nodded, her eyes dancing with excitement.
“Yes—oh, yes! He has to go up to London on business.”
“Then that’s the day we’ll choose. Heaven send it be fine!”—piously.
“Oh, how I’d love it!” exclaimed Claire. “I haven’t been on the Moor for such a long time.”
“And I’ve never been there at all,” supplemented Jean.
“Nick! Nick!” Claire turned to him excitedly. “Did you know of this plan? And why didn’t you tell me about it before?”
He looked at her, a slow smile curving his lips.
“Why, I never thought of it,” he admitted. “You see”—explanatorily—“when I’m with you, I can’t think of anything else.”
“Nick, I won’t have you making barefaced love to a married woman under my very nose,” protested Jean equably. And the shadow of tragedy that had lowered above them a few minutes earlier broke into a spray of cheery fun and banter.