He cast at her a glance more eloquent than words. “Different!” he echoed beneath his breath. “Different!” But though she waited eagerly for a further explanation, it did not come. The Chieftain was already sitting up, mopping his damp face, and gesticulating energetically towards the other members of the party.
“Now then! Go ahead. I’ve led the way. Mr Macalister, your turn, sir! Who’s afraid?”
Mr Macalister shook his head. He was not afraid of any man, but his days were past for playing the fool! Not to say there had not been a time when he could dance a reel with the best! There was young Mr Menzies now—
Young Mr Menzies, the clergyman’s apathetic son, blushed crimson at the suggestion, and shook his head until it seemed in danger of falling off altogether. George Elgood stoutly denied his ability to “play tricks,” and tiresome, aggravating Ron flatly refused to improvise a poem on the day’s doings, throwing away a valuable opportunity with a recklessness which made his sister long to shake him.
Nobody would do anything! The Chieftain sat on the grass, divesting himself of his make-up, the while he roundly denounced his companions as the laziest, slackest, most unsportsmanlike crew whom it had ever been his misfortune to meet.
“But if you won’t play singly, you must play in bulk, for play you shall! We are out for a picnic, and must behave as sich. Up with you now, every man-jack of you!” he cried, suiting the action to the word, and springing to his own feet with the surprising ease and elasticity which characterised all his gestures. “We’ll start hide-and-seek along the Glen. We’ll hide, and,”—he glanced round, with an air of innocent inquiry—almost too innocent, it appeared in the eyes of one watcher at least!—and pointed a fat forefinger at his brother and Margot as they sat side by side—“you two will seek! Miss Vane and George... Give us ten minutes to hide ourselves discreetly, and then start out on your search. Between the two fireplaces shall be ‘Den!’ Are you ready?”
Apparently they were all ready. Mrs Macalister creaked and gasped, and finally rose to her feet; the men travelled after her in a long, straggling row. Margot and the Editor were left to themselves.