"It's going to be fine," observed Adelaide complacently. "I'm glad that I put on my new light tweeds."
"Stunning," commented Dennis, exhibiting his well-shaped leg. "What about my own light tweeds?"
Everybody seemed to be in high spirits. After all, the drive would not be so bad, thought Muriel. She could watch the grey, flat road unwind like ribbon behind the waggonette. She could see the clay-red furrows of the ploughed land, and she could hear the cry of sea-birds circling behind and around the plough. Some magic lingered in the fresh spring air.
Lunch was pleasant enough too, although she found herself seated on an unsteady log between Mrs. Hobson and Colonel Cartwright, who had motored to the woods. He at least was bent upon enjoyment. As an old campaigner he insisted upon showing every one how to do everything, from lighting a fire with two matches, to opening ginger-beer bottles with a walking-stick.
"Dangerous things, picnics," he declared to Muriel, determined to show her how to be jolly too.
Anxious to learn, she said sedately:
"Why, Colonel?"
He winked at her. "Ah, the spring, and a young man's fancy, happy hours and woodland bowers, and chaperons asleep under the trees."
"I don't think that that sounds very dangerous," said Muriel politely, and received a light flutter of laughter from the party as a reward for her naïveté.
But she was soon to learn where for her the danger lay.