4
At breakfast Louise counted votes for a picnic by the river. “Those who don’t fish,” she suggested, “can sit under the willows and pretend there aren’t any mosquitoes, or play duck on the rock with Mr. Cutty and me.”
They had all come down in comically smart riding clothes. Miriam, with her tanned skin and well-worn khaki, looked like a native in contrast to Girlie in her grey-green whipcord. Girlie, whose horsemanship had been loudly heralded, was eager to try out a Mexican saddle.
Mr. Tulk-Leamington stroked his prematurely bald head. “What will you do if your pony bucks?” he asked.
Girlie languidly buttered her toast. “Ernest,” she chided, “you’re always stirring up mares’ nests.”
“Dear me!” cried Alice. “Do they buck?”
“In wild west novels they do,” said Girlie’s fiancé. “What will you do, Miss Eveley, if yours does?”
“I shall hang on and scream for Louise.”
Louise turned the tables on Ernest. “And you?” she inquired.
Mr. Cutty forestalled him. “He will soar into the firmament. You’ll find him on some remote tree-top. Can’t you picture a distraught owl trying to hatch out Ernest’s head!”