"A picnic! A real whole-day one this time. Lunch in the woods at Earley, tea in our old woman's cottage, walk over the fields to the amphitheatre, and home by train from Oxholm. Whoever goes with Aunt Maria will be cheated of her holiday, for the well-behaved country doesn't count. If you have to wear gloves and walk properly, you might as well be in town at once. For the victim's sake we ought to have one more day in the woods!"

Clemence and Darsie sparkled, for the programme was an opulent one, combining as it did the two ordinary picnics into one. The yearly programme was that--"if you are good"--the Garnett family should be taken for two half-day excursions into the country on two summer Sat.u.r.day afternoons, but though the woods and the amphitheatre were only separated by three short miles, never yet had the two places been visited together. An all-day picnic seemed a regal entertainment, worthy of the unique occasion.

"Ourselves and the Vernons! Mrs Vernon to talk to mother, then they won't have as much time to look after us. When they begin on carpets and curtains they forget everything else, and we can do as we like. Do you suppose Dan would come?"

"Sure he wouldn't."

"Why?"

"My dear!"

Clemence held out eloquent hands. "Does he ever come? He's a man, soon going to college, and you are only 'kids.' I'm older than he is really; a woman is always older than a man, but he doesn't like me. We are not _en rapport_." Clemence tried hard to suppress a smirk of self- consciousness at the use of the French term, while the two younger sisters jeered and booed with the callous brutality of their kind.

"Ha, ha! aren't we fine? Roll your r's a little more next time, my dear. It will sound miles better. Your accent leaves much to be desired. Aren't we grown-up to-day? Aunt Maria _would_ be impressed!

A little stay in Paris just to put on the accent, and it's wonderful to think of what you might do! _En rapport_! Bet you daren't say that to Dan! Dare you to tell him that you are not _en rapport_!"

Clemence was seized with agitation, discerning through the innocent words a thinly veiled threat. If she didn't, Darsie _would_!

"Darsie!" she cried loudly. "You mustn't tell; you must _not_! It's mean. Only sneaky children repeat what is said in private. Promise this minute that you won't say a word!"

But Darsie, like her brothers, was keenly alive to the privilege of holding a rod in pickle over an elder member of the family. So long as Clemence lived in fear of humiliating disclosure, so long might she herself walk in safety, free from rebuffs. She laid her head on one side and smiled sweetly into her sister's face.

"I shouldn't like exactly, positively, to _promise_, don't you know, for I _am_ such a creature of impulse. If it rushed over me suddenly, it might pop out, don't you know, bang! before I knew what I was about! Of course, on the other hand, I _might_ not--"

"Very well," snapped Clemence sharply, "then I stay at home! It would be no fun for _me_ to go for a picnic with that sort of thing hanging over my head all the time. I know very well how you'd behave--rolling your eyes across the table, and beginning half-sentences, and introducing '_en rapport_' every other moment. If I'm going to be made miserable, I'll be miserable at home. You can go to our last picnic as an undivided family without me, the eldest of the family, and I only hope you'll enjoy it; that's all!"

"Oh, Darsie!" pleaded Lavender tragically, moved almost to tears by the pathos of those last words, and Darsie shrugged her shoulders, philosophically accepting her defeat.

"All right, I promise! I'll hug the remembrance secretly in my own breast. It will cheer me through the dullest hours!"

Clemence bridled, but made no further protest. To think of Darsie chuckling in secret was not agreeable, but it was as nothing compared with the humiliation of meeting Dan's grave stare, and seeing the curl of his lip at the repet.i.tion of her high-sounding phrase. As the quickest way of changing the conversation she suggested an adjournment to the morning-room, where mother sat busy over the eternal mending- basket, to broach the picnic project without delay.

Mother agreed instantly, eagerly, indeed, so that there was something almost uncanny in the unusualness of the situation. To every demand, every suggestion came the unfailing, "Yes, darlings! Certainly, darlings!" Even the audacity of the double programme aroused no more notice than the remark that it was an admirable idea. Darsie, striking while the iron was hot, went a step farther and attacked the subject of lunch.

"Could we--for once--have something substantialler than sandwiches?

Chickens?" She gasped at the audacity of the request, for chickens were a state dish, reserved for occasions, and in summer for some inscrutable reasons just because they were smaller cost more than ever. "Chickens cut up are so easy to eat. We needn't have knives and forks. And little cobby dinner-rolls from the confectioner's, with crisp, browny crust, cut open and stuffed with b.u.t.ter and potted meat, and little green pieces of lettuce. They had them that way at supper at the Masons' party, and they were superb! And cakes and fruit! Do, mother, let us have a real swagger lunch just for once!"

And mother said, "Yes, darling!" like a lamb, swallowing as it were spring chickens and cobby rolls at a gulp. It was impossible in giving the invitation to the Vernons to refrain from a hint at the magnificence of the preparations, though good manners would, of course, have prompted silence on such a point.

The Vernons accepted with acclamation, all except Dan, who rudely declared that he "refused with pleasure," when Darsie bearded him in his den and proffered the invitation. He was seated at his desk, for the moment the only occupant of the workroom, and his manner was not expressive of welcome to the new-comer. He was a big, heavily built youth, with a face which was oddly attractive despite irregular features and a dull complexion. Dark eyes looked at you straight and square beneath bushy eyebrows; thin lips curved into the oddest, most expressive of lines, the square chin had a fashion of projecting until it seemed to become one of the most eloquent features in his face.

Close observation showed that there was a shadow of his upper lip, and rumour had it that he shaved, actually _shaved_ every morning of his life. His huge hands had a grip of steel, but it was wonderful how deft and gentle they could be on occasion. Every alb.u.m and collection in the house was labelled by Dan, indexed by Dan, embellished with ornamental flourishes and headlines, which Dan's big fingers alone had the power to produce. Now he leaned an elbow on the desk, turned round on his chair, and tilted that eloquent chin in scorn.

"Picnic? Not much. Hate 'em like poison! You don't want me!"

"We _do_ want you! We shouldn't have asked you if we didn't. Don't be unsociable, Dan. It's an extra special occasion, and it would be so much jollier to be complete. The boys will behave better if you're there."

Dan's chin tilted still an inch higher. That was of course, but--

"I hate a family crowd!" he p.r.o.nounced tersely. "If there were only one or two, it wouldn't be so bad. Usual programme, I suppose--pick flowers and eat biscuits? Not much in my line--thank you all the same. Hope you'll have a good time!"

"We're going to have a _real_ lunch--chickens and all sorts of good things, and walk to Oxholm across the fields. It will be much more exciting than the old picnics have been."

"It might easily be that! No, thank you, I'm off. Some other day--"

"But we want you, Dan! _I_ want you to come."

"But _I_ don't, you see. There's the difference. Sorry to disoblige."

Darsie regarded him silently, considered the point whether wrath or pathos would be the most powerful weapon, decided rapidly in favour of pathos, and sank with a sigh on to an opposite chair.

"Very well. I _quite_ understand. We wanted you especially because this may be the last, the very last time that one of us girls has any fun this summer, so of course it feels important. But you are so much older--it's natural that you shouldn't care. I think you've been very nice to be as much with us as you have been... Dan!"

"Yes!"

"Hannah says it will be _me_! That Aunt Maria is sure to choose me when she comes. Do you think she will?"

"Ten to one, I should say."

"Oh, but why? _Why_? How can you be so sure?"

Dan's dark eyes surveyed the alert little head, poised on the stem of the graceful throat, his thin lips lengthened in the long, straight line which showed that he was trying not to smile.

"Because--er, you appear to me the sort of girl that an erratic old fossil would naturally prefer!"

"Ah-h!"--Darsie's dejection was deep--"Daniel, how cruel!" It was a comforting retaliation to address her tormentor by the name he so cordially disliked, but she remembered her role, and looked dejected rather than irate. "I suppose that's true. I _need_ discipline, and she would naturally choose the worst of the three. No one wants to be disciplined instead of having a good time, but it may be good for me in the end. All the time you are at sea, happy and free, I shall be being disciplined for my good... Wednesday may be my last, my very last, glad day..."

"Bah! Rubbish!" snapped Dan, but he looked at the curly head, and felt a pang of distaste. The idea of Darsie Garnett sobered and disciplined out of recognition was distinctly unpleasant. He wriggled in his chair, and said tentatively: "It will take more than one old lady to tame _you_, young woman! You'll have lots of fun yet--perhaps more than if you'd stayed at home."

Darsie smiled with angelic resignation.

"Perhaps so, but it won't be the same _kind_ of fun. New friends can never be like old. If she chooses me, I must go, because of my duty to father and the rest, but it's going to _hurt_! I feel,"--she waved her arms dramatically in the air--"like a flower that is being torn out by the roots! I shall not live long in a strange soil... Well, goodbye, Dan; I won't bother you any more! Thank you very much for all you've done for me in the past."

Done! Dan searched his memory, found therein inscribed a number of snubs, rebuffs, and teasings, but nothing worthy of the thanks so sweetly offered.

He felt a stirring of reproach. Darsie was a decent kid--an amusing kid; if she went away she would leave behind her a decided blank.

Looking back over the years, Darsie seemed to have played the leading part in the historic exploits of the family. She was growing into quite a big kid now. He glanced at her again quickly, furtively, and drummed with his fingers on the desk--hardly a kid at all, almost grown up!

"Oh, that's all right; don't worry about that," he mumbled vaguely.

"What a grandiloquent kid you are! I hope you'll have a better time than you think, if you do go to visit your aunt."

"Thanks so much; I hope I may; and if at any time--_any_ time--I can do anything to help you, or give you the least--the _very_ least--pleasure, please let me know, Dan! I can understand now how one feels when one leaves home and faces the world!" said Darsie poignantly. "G-goodbye!"

"Bye," said Dan coolly. He leaned back in his chair, still thudding with his fingers on the desk. Darsie had reached the door and held it open in her hands before he spoke again. "What time did you say that blessed old picnic is to start?"

"Wednesday. Ten o'clock," said Darsie, and, like a true daughter of Eve, spoke not one more word, but shut the door and left him to his thoughts.

"Dan's coming! You're not to say a word till the time, but he _is_!"

she announced to her sisters that evening; but when they questioned and cross-questioned concerning the means whereby the miracle had been wrought, she steadfastly refused to satisfy their curiosity. That was not their concern. An inherent loyalty to Dan forbade that she should make public the wiles by which he had been beguiled.