She whipped to her feet. "Oh, don't be absurd!" she cried. "Do you imagine--is this your idea of doing something? Of rep--reparation for dragging my name--my brother's----" She was weeping now. From somewhere on the sands below came the voices of the children returning from their bathe. With a wrung heart Graeme realised his chance had gone; the children could see them. Miss Mayne turned her face from the sea. "I'm going for a walk for a few minutes," she said; "will you all start tea?" "But won't you give me a chance to speak to you later on?" gasped Graeme, "just for a second. It isn't anything to do with this wretched business. I mean I don't want you to marry me just because----" Miss Mayne turned a tear-wet face towards him for one instant. "If you are what I once thought you were--if you even remotely resemble what I've always heard of Naval officers, you'll never, never broach this odious topic again, by word or letter or implication." And with that she went off along the cliff, walking very fast with her head bent. Mouldy Jakes fell to buttering a slice of bread. _Dies irae_! And the night that followed, little better for most of the participators in that memorable picnic. Tears wetted two pillows at least; a third remained uncreased until the dawn by the head that ought to have lain there. Cornelius James awoke on the morrow to manifold perplexities. To Jane, his confidante in most tribulations, he unburdened himself after an early breakfast, what time Miss Mayne and Georgina, the former heavy-lidded and both uncommunicative, were putting finishing touches to the packing. The two children were taking a valedictory stroll round the farm. "Miss Mayne's been crying," he observed gloomily. He abhorred tears. Jane confirmed this with a nod that set her curls bobbing. "So's Georgie." "I know." Cornelius James's tone was one of exasperation. "I'm sorry to be leaving Glebe Farm, but I don't cry about it. You're sorry, too, aren't you, Jane?" Jane nodded again, but hesitated before disclosing the maiden secret of another's breast. "'Tisn't that, Georgie wasn't crying 'cos we're leaving, 'xactly." "Then _why_?" demanded her brother. He scrambled on to the wall of the pigsty, and sat moodily dropping bits of stone on the porker's back. "You see," explained Jane, not without diffidence, "she's in love." "What next!" gasped her outraged brother. "Who's she in love with?" "Mr. Jakes." Cornelius James could find no words applicable to the situation. "But--but," he finally exclaimed, "even if she is, what's she got to cry about?" Jane clambered up beside her brother. "Well, you see," she began, "it was that picnic." "It was a jolly picnic," maintained the other. "Yes, but Georgie counted on having Mr. Jakes all to herself on the way back." "So she jolly well did!" commented her brother wrathfully.