We sat down in the porch to wait for Gerald. When he rejoined us, which he did very leisurely, I glanced at his shoes, and suggested that he should change them for something more substantial. “Why? We’re not going through ploughed fields, are we? I haven’t any hob-nails even if we were.” A panama hat shaded his face and he swung a light cane in his hand. I knew at once we should have difficulty in getting him any distance, and was very nearly proposing he should stay at home. “Why aren’t we driving?” he asked. “Such nonsense!” exclaimed Katherine. “If Aunt Clara had wanted us to drive she would have said so.” “I don’t mind making inquiries,” Gerald intimated. “I somehow feel it’s the proper thing to drive.” “You’re not to say anything about it; Aunt Clara won’t like it, I know.” “I’ll drive with our young friend Peter, here,” he said airily, tapping me on the shoulder with his cane. I could see Katherine was becoming impatient; Gerald was the only one who was perfectly cool. “About carrying Katherine’s lunch,” he began. “Hadn’t we better get a stick and put it through the handle of this thing?” He kicked the basket lightly. “Then two of us could struggle with it together.” The idea was a good one, and we put it into practice. Our road kept all the way by the coast: on the right, the mountains; on the left, a strip of waste land, varying in width, and covered with dry, sapless grass upon which, nevertheless, there were goats feeding; below this, the steep drop down to the sea. Shadowless in the strong sun, the road wound on ahead, white with dust, like a pale ribbon on the green and russet landscape. We had gone about a mile when Gerald suddenly announced, “I’m not going any further; it’s too hot.” This brought us again to a standstill. “It’s so like you to spoil everything,” said Katherine. “What am I spoiling? I suppose I can please myself. Only, since I’m not coming, I’d advise you to chuck some of that grub away.” He took his cigarette-case from his pocket and offered me a cigarette, which I refused. He lit one himself. “You know very well that if you go home Aunt Clara will think I ought to have come with you, or at any rate be back for lunch,” said Katherine quietly. “How should I know such absurd things? And I can’t help what she thinks, can I?” “We could have stayed out all day.” Gerald had begun to whistle an air very softly, and I recognized it as something he had played last night. His eyes were fixed on the distant horizon, and he seemed slightly bored. “Perhaps if we were to bathe it might make a difference――who knows? Suppose young Peter and I bathe while you watch the basket here in this pleasant sunny spot; or you could walk on slowly with it, and we might in the end even overtake you?” I turned to Katherine. “Come along,” I said brusquely. “What’s the use of bothering about him?”