"A delightful suggestion, Mrs. Winter," said Miss Vernon.
"Then the programme is," said Winter, "an early drive over to Mowbray Castle, a good morning's work there; dinner at two o'clock and tea at five, and syllabubs at the farm."
"An admirable plan," observed the Colonel.
"There is nothing I like better than a real impromptu pic nic," I observed.
"And, Mrs. Winter, the gentlemen must not be too exigeants," said Miss Vernon, "but be content with what our larders afford; there will be no time for preparation."
"Content!" cried I.
"Oh! we all know you would rather prefer a few herbs with water from the neighbouring spring," said Miss Vernon archly.
A few more words as to the hour of starting and place of rendezvous, which was to be at the Priory, as it was on the road to the Ruins, and we exchanged good nights.
What a contrast Sunday at A—— presented to almost every other Sunday I had ever spent. The grey old church, with its exquisitely carved screen and pulpit, black polished oak, its heavy massive pillars, and quaint scanty congregation. How distinguished the Colonel and Miss Vernon looked amongst them! Gilpin's almost inspired strains on the organ, contrasted rather forcibly with the drowsiness of the service, doled out by a little mummy in spectacles, evidently minus several teeth, essential to a clear enunciation. We all sat in Winter's pew, and Miss Araminta Cox was there in a yellow bonnet, the turban, I suppose, done up in a different shape.
After church we had an early dinner, luncheon rather, then a stroll along the river, where we found Elijah Bush preaching to a mob of boys and girls; it seemed curious, too, not having any dinner at the regular hour.