“That it would,” said many voices; whilst Fay, with her usual tact, added, “but, of course, you’ll come with us, Mrs. Busson.”
Did she not guess how the dear old lady was dying to join the party.
“Well, if it wouldn’t be crowding you too much,” she said, modestly, “I would be ever so pleased to come with you. But what do the young gentlemen think about it? They could have the ponies, and ride alongside of us, for I expect they’d weary of being inside the van for so long.”
“Oh, that would be stunning,” cried Phil and Jack. “We’ll be your outriders.”
“May I sit in front, with Mr. Busson, and drive?” asked Hubert.
“To be sure you shall, my dear.”
“You promise that he won’t let Andrew have the reins,” began Hubert.
“Don’t alarm, yourself,” said Andrew, “I shan’t come with you.”
“Not come with us, Andrew,” exclaimed Phoena.
“No, I’ve got a headache, and don’t fancy a ten miles jolt in a van,” was his singularly ungracious remark on the treat Mrs. Busson had planned for their benefit.