"Had a nice afternoon?" he asked.
"Only fair. Day's been underfoot most of the time. Why?"
"How'd you like a picnic?"
"I would not!" I said decisively. "I hate cold food and motoring in a procession until you choke with dust—and Day getting jealous and disagreeable and wanting to get home early."
"Poor little girl!" said Ferd, and patted my hand in a friendly way.
Ferd was a good scout always; we got along together pretty well and sat together at dinners whenever we could. He never made love to me or anything like that, but he understood me thoroughly, which Day never took the trouble to do. It is absurd, now that it's all over, to have the others saying he was my affinity or anything of the sort. I never cared for him.
"I didn't mean the usual sort of picnic," Ferd said. "How has it got its pretty hair fixed to-day? Rather nice, lady-love; but why do you hide your pretty ears?"
Lady-love was only a nickname.
"So I won't be able to hear Day bragging about his golf score. What sort of a picnic?"
"It's a peach of an idea!" Ferd said. "It came to me out of a clear sky. Every picnic we've ever had has been a failure—because why? Because they were husband-and-wife picnics. There's no trouble about a picnic where nobody's married, is there?"