"What man are you thinking of?" said Peter.
Jealousy was a potent factor in his love for Sarah. He forgot his mother instantly, as he had forgotten her on the day of his return, when Sarah had walked on to the terrace—and into his heart.
"I name no names," said Sarah, "but I hope I know a hero when I see him; and that man is a hero, though he is—nothing much to look at."
It amused her to observe the varying expressions on her lover's face, which her artless words called forth, one after another.
"If you are really not going to eat any luncheon, Peter," she said, "I must trouble you to help me to wash up and pack the basket. The fire is out and the water is cold, but it can't be helped. The picnic has been a failure."
"We have the whole afternoon before us. I cannot see that there is any hurry," said Peter, not stirring.
"I didn't mean to break bad news to you," said Sarah, "until we'd had a pleasant meal together in comfort, and rested ourselves. But since you insist on spoiling everything with your horrid premature disclosures, I don't see why I shouldn't do the same. I must be at home by four o'clock, because Aunt Elizabeth is coming to Hewelscourt this very afternoon."
"Lady Tintern!" cried Peter, in dismay. "Then you won't be able to come to Barracombe this evening?"
"I am not in the habit of throwing over a dinner engagement," said Sarah, with dignity. "But in case they won't let me come," she added, with great inconsistency, "I'll put a lighted candle in the top window of the tower, as usual. But you can guess how many more of these enjoyable expeditions we shall be allowed to make. Not that we need regret them if they are all to be as lively as this one. Still—"
She helped herself to a jam-puff, and offered the dish to Peter, with an engaging smile. He helped himself absently.