"I suppose you must feel like chicken and salad, too, Lady Runnybroke,"
suggested Mrs. Captain Joyce.

"I don't think I quite know HOW chicken and salad feel, dear," said
Lady Runnybroke with a puzzled air, "but if that's one of your husband's
delightful American stories, do tell us. I never CAN get Runnybroke to
tell me any, although he roars over them all. And I dare say he gets
them all wrong. But look, here comes our luncheon."

Peter and Lady Elfrida were advancing towards them. The scrutiny of a
dozen pairs of eyes--wondering, mischievous, critical, impertinent, or
resentful--would have been a trying ordeal to any errant couple; but
there was little if any change in Peter's grave and gentle demeanor,
albeit his dark eyes were shining with a peculiar light, and Lady
Elfrida had only the animation, color, and slight excitability that
became the responsible leader of the little party. They neither
apologized or alluded to their delay. They had selected a spot on the
other side of the copse, and the baskets could be sent around by the
wagon; they had seen a slight haze on the plain towards the east which
betokened the vicinity of the rest of the party, and they were about to
propose that as the gentlemen were so near they had better postpone
the picnic until they came up. Lady Runnybroke smiled affably; the only
thing she had noticed was that Lady Elfrida in joining them had gone
directly to the side of the abstracted Jenny, and placed her arm around
her waist. At which Lady Runnybroke airily joined them.

The surmises of Peter and Friddy appeared to be correct. The transfer
of the provisions and the party to the other side was barely concluded
before they could see the gentlemen coming; they were riding a little
more rapidly than when they had set out, and were arriving fully