“There’s certainly not room for two extra in the car. There isn’t really room for one.”
“There wouldn’t be two. You would drive Blaise.”
“Pardon me. I should do nothing of the sort.”
“Do you mean”—incredulously—“that you would refuse?”
“Oh, I should invent an armour-plated reason. A broken spring in the dog-cart or something. But I do mean that if I don’t drive you, I drive no one.”
Jean looked at him vexedly.
“Well,” she said uncertainly, “we can’t have a fuss at a picnic.”
“No,” agreed Burke. “So I’m afraid you’ll have to give in.”
Jean rather thought so, too. There didn’t seem any way out of it. She knew that Burke was perfectly capable, under cover of some supposed mishap to his trap, of throwing the whole party into confusion and difficulty, rather than relinquish his intention.
“Oh, very well,” she yielded at last, resignedly. “Have your own way, you obstinate man.”