“Heroine. Honor Ward, aged twenty-four. Orphan. Proprietress of Piquant Pickles Factory, Cheeving, Massachusetts, USA. Honor, who is of fair and pleasing exterior, is spending a year in Europe visiting various friends and connections. Honor is sensitive as to her enormous fortune, and suspects:—
“Robert Carr, Hero in Chief, of being attracted thereby. Robert Carr is a barrister engaged in climbing the ladder. He loves Honor, but resents her attitude, and talks assiduously to:—
“Patricia O’Shaughnessy, youngest scion of the house. Patricia is plain, but fascinating, and of noble disposition. She is anxious to reconcile the lovers. The more so as she herself prefers the companionship of:—
“Stanor Vaughan, Secondary Hero, a beauteous youth of fair estate. Stanor being ardently in love with himself, does not return her passion. He treats her with sisterly affection. Patricia hides her chagrin beneath a mask of gaiety.
“How’s that for a start, Honey? Pretty thrilling, eh? Don’t be anxious about the mask! It’s so life-like that it deceives even myself into believing that it’s the genuine article, but when dramatic happenings are around, it isn’t Pixie O’Shaughnessy who will stand aside and take no part!
“On Wednesday we went for a picnic. It was meant to be a picnic de luxe, but fate was kind to us, and it turned out very alfresco indeed. We started in the big car, Geoffrey driving, and all sorts of good things piled up in hampers, and at an appointed place the chauffeur met us and took possession, while we walked on through the woods. Such woods, Bridgie; all sweet, and dim, and green, the trunks of the great old beeches standing up straight and tall like the pillars of a great cathedral, and sweet, innocent little primroses peeping up through the moss, and last year’s leaves crackling under foot. Those primroses went straight to my head; I felt quite fey.
“Strictly, between me and your sisterly ear, I was very amusing indeed, and they all appreciated me very much! And we laughed and talked, and finally began to sing.
“‘You have a quite too beautiful voice, Miss O’Shaughnessy. Won’t you sing to us in the drawing-room to-night?’
“‘How sweet of you! Really, I shall be too charmed!’ (This is the orthodox fashionable manner of speaking. Let us be fashionable or die!)
“We sang glees. Esmeralda and I took contralto; there was practically no treble, for Honor’s squeak was drowned fathoms deep; Geoffrey and Mr Carr droned bass, and Stanor Vaughan took tenor, rather out of tune it’s true, but no man with that profile could be expected to condescend to bass! We sang ‘Come and see the daylight dawning, on the meadow far away,’ and Mr Carr said he must really make a point of going some day, and we’ve planned an early walk for next week, if any one can wake up in time. We roared ‘All among the barley,’ until the primroses looked quite abashed, and turned into ‘Good-night, good-night beloved,’ to soothe them down again, and we grew so intimate and festive, and they all said, ‘What next, Miss O’Shaughnessy, what next?’ Really, my dear, I was a succès fou.
“But more is yet to come. It was so lovely and we were enjoying ourselves so much, that we dallied about, and took extra little détours, so that it was nearly two o’clock when we arrived at the appointed spot, and imagine, my dear, our thwarted hunger and thirst, when not a vestige of a car could we behold! It was no use waiting, because if all had gone right it should have been waiting for us for an hour at least. So we held a council of war at the side of the road.
“Esmeralda. ‘I shall give Dawson notice At Once! He has made some stupid mistake, and gone to the wrong place. I’ve no patience with blunderers.’ (She hasn’t.)
“Geoffrey. ‘Something may have gone wrong with the car. Don’t blame the poor fellow till you are sure he deserves it.’
“Stanor. ‘I don’t care one rap about Dawson. I want my lunch! With the luxuries! What price expectation now, Miss O’Shaughnessy?’
“Honor. ‘I’m sorry to be disagreeable, but I’ve a blister on my heel. If it’s a case of walking back, I must bid you all a fond adieu and take to a forest life.’
“Robert Carr. ‘What can you expect if you start out on a country walk in ball-room slippers?’
“Honor said: ‘They aren’t, and, anyway, I don’t expect sympathy from you,’ and I said: ‘Isn’t there an opening into the road a little nearer the village where the car may be waiting all the time?’