The captain broke in heartily before she had time to reply. “Why, of course; you must come to breakfast every morning, and then we can plan some excursion for the day and make the most of our time.”
“Yes,” urged Comethup eagerly. “We might go for a drive sometimes, you know. It would be rather jolly, sir”—he turned to the captain appealingly—“it would be jolly if we could go for a picnic one day, and take our lunch with us, wouldn’t it? You see, ’Linda, we could go wherever you liked.”
“That would be splendid!” said the girl, clasping her hands. “I’ve never been for a drive in my life.”
“Then we’ll go to-morrow,” said Comethup. “We can start directly after breakfast and make a day of it.”
The captain and Comethup spent that first day in strolling about the neighbourhood and sitting out on the sandy hillocks beyond the town, talking—mostly of the future—and dreaming old dreams over again of the past. There seemed so much to be said in that familiar atmosphere; it seemed so easy to live over again the old days, when Comethup had known no other existence.
On the day arranged for the picnic ’Linda came running into the garden just as breakfast was placed on the table; breathlessly kissed the captain, and shook hands with Comethup; announced, with a roguish shake of her head, that she would not take off her hat, as they were to start so soon; and chattered ceaselessly and happily about everything—the weather, the horses that were to take them, the road by which they should go, and a thousand other things. Comethup had ordered a capacious carriage from the inn the night before—an open carriage to hold four, with two horses. Homer—most wonderful of men—had prepared a huge luncheon basket, to the contents of which Comethup had added a couple of bottles of claret. The carriage drew up at the gate just as they had finished breakfast, and ’Linda ran out to inspect it.
Comethup followed her, and stood beside her at the gate, waiting for the captain. “I’m so glad,” he said, slowly, “that it’s a fine day, and—and that you’re so pleased.”
She turned round swiftly, her dark eyes dancing. “Oh, it’s the first real holiday I’ve ever had; I couldn’t sleep last night for thinking about it. But”—her brows wrinkled a little anxiously—“won’t this cost—cost a lot of money?” She waved her hand toward the carriage.
“No, not much,” said Comethup carelessly. “Besides, it doesn’t matter; we’ll have a jolly day, and you know I’ve got plenty of money.”