wander out of sight and sound of the other picnic parties. Once when
they came to the extreme limit of their walk, Julia half-hesitated.
She looked into the quiet green distance. It would be easy to leave
them, to give them the slip; she could walk at double their pace with
half their exertion, she could lose herself among the trees while
they were wondering why she had gone, and making up their minds to
follow her; and, most important of all, when she came back she could
explain everything quite easily, so that they would not think it in
the least strange--an accident, a missing of the way, anything. Should
she do it--should she? The wild creature that had lived half-smothered
within her for all the twenty years of her life fluttered and stirred.
It had stirred before, rebelling against the shams of the Marbridge
life, as it rebelled against the restrictions of the present; it had
never had scope or found vent; still, for all that it was not dead;
possibly, even, it was growing stronger; it called her now to run
away. But she did not do it; advisability, the Polkingtons' patron
saint, suggested to her that one does not learn to shine in the caged
life by allowing oneself the luxury of occasional escape.

She turned her back on the green distance. "Shall we not go back to
where the music is playing?" she said.

They went, walking with their arms entwined as other girls were doing,
Julia between the broad, white-skinned sisters, like a rapier between
cushions. The two younger girls ran on in front. "There is Mevrouw,"
they cried. "She is calling us. The carriage is ready, too; oh, do you
think it is already time to go?"

It seemed as if it really was the case. Vrouw Snieder stood clapping
her hands and beckoning to them, and the coachman appeared impatient