“Oh, look!” she cried with an effort at gayety. “The enemy! They approach. Let’s go and meet ’em.”
She jumped to her feet and pointed to a far stretch of the road where four figures were slowly moving along.
“That means I’ve got to put on my infernal whiskers and wig!” he groaned.
“Just think how long a vacation you’ve had from them,” she reproached him.
“And my still more uncomfortable manners.”
“Tone them down a little,” she advised. “I think Holcomb and Paul are just about ready to turn on the haughty Britisher, and rend him limb from limb.”
“Don’t blame ’em,” he said lazily. “But they seem to be turning off toward the village,” he added, peering down into the valley.
“And the girls are coming on,” said Darcy. “Probably they’ve got the mail.”
“With foreign letters?” said Remsen jealously. “Did you leave a forwarding address?” She shot a swift, indirect look at him. But he was gazing out over the regally garbed forest spread below them.
“Come along!” she urged. “We must hurry. We’ll take the Bungalow trail, and I’ll wait while you put on your Veyze outfit. Then we’ll catch the girls on their return from the Farm.”