"This is a dusty place for a picnic," said Nigel, "let's go down the lane to Brambletye, and eat them there."
The idea and the words came almost together. He did not pause to think how funny it was that he should suddenly want to go for a picnic with a school-girl of sixteen. It seemed quite natural, somehow. However, he could not help being a little dismayed at his own boldness. This girl would freeze up at once if by any chance he betrayed who he really was. As for her people—but the thought of their scandalised faces was an incitement rather than otherwise.
"Where's Brambletye?" asked Tony.
"Don't you know it?—it's the ruin at the bottom of that lane. You must have passed it often."
"I've never been down the lane—only along the road in the car."
"And you live so near! Why, I've often been to Brambletye, and I live much further away than you."
"Where do you live?"
This was a settler, to which Nigel had laid himself open by his enthusiasm. He decided to face the situation boldly.
"I live over in Surrey—at a place called Fan's Court."