"If hope but deferred causeth sickness of heart,
What sorrow, to see it forever depart."
"This rain knocks the pic-nic all in the head," said Phil, lounging into the breakfast-room, "and everybody's sure of being in a bad humor on account of the disappointment. What shall we all do with ourselves?"
"Play billiards, can't we?" said the captain.
"I hate billiards, for my part," said Grace, looking dismally out of the window. "And Josephine's ankle's too bad to play, and Ellerton isn't well enough, and my pretty cousin there never did anything she was asked to yet; and Mr. Viennet consequently will refuse, and Phil's too lazy, and mamma won't take the trouble, and Mr. Rutledge has letters to write; so I think you'll be at a loss for anybody to play with you, Captain McGuffy."
"So it would seem," said the captain, consoling himself with some breakfast. "I can't see anything better to be done than this, then."
"It is rather your vocation, I think," returned Grace. "But with the rest of us, it is an enjoyment that at best cannot last over an hour, and there are twelve to be got rid of before bed-time."
"It is trying," said Josephine. "And I've no more crimson for my sofa-cushion, and no chance of matching it nearer than Norbury. I really don't know what I shall do all day."
"If one only had a good novel!" yawned Ella Wynkar. "But there isn't anything worth reading in the library. I wonder Mr. Rutledge doesn't get some interesting books."
"There he comes; ask him," said Grace, maliciously.
"No, I don't like to. Mr. Rutledge is so odd, there's no knowing how he might take it."