Cassandra's colour-loving eyes dwelt lingeringly upon the scene. There was not a human creature in sight; a few white-sailed yachts alone broke the surface of the waters. The soft lap of the waves added to the impression of rest and peace. She lay drinking in the beauty of it, while the final preparations for the meal were being made. In her mind was no prevision that in future years that scene was to be associated in her mind with an extremity of pain and fear, with the dawning of a joy that hurt more sharply than pain. She was conscious only of rest to her tired limbs, of satisfaction to her craving for beauty, acutely conscious of Dane Peignton's presence, as he stood talking to Teresa, helping her to arrange the cushioned seats. For the rest, she was weary and discouraged, and oh! overpoweringly lonely! But nowadays she always felt lonely... The servants pronounced all ready, and retraced their way across the field path. Grizel made a tour of inspection and gave a favourable verdict. "It looks--scrum! Why are stray meals always so much more attractive than proper ones, and why are men so stupid that they can't understand that they are? That's one of the many distinctions between the sexes. All women adore picnics. All men--don't! Why?" "Perhaps," Dane volunteered, seating himself in front of the cloth, in response to a gesture of invitation, "perhaps because--they have longer legs." "Well, you must tuck them up somehow. They can't take up the _whole_ side!" Grizel objected, sinking down in a compact little mass in which her own legs apparently ceased to exist. "Let me see. Where do we begin? Savoury eggs, chicken mayonnaise. We'll start on the eggs as a _hors d'oeuvre_, and dull the first fierceness of our appetites before getting on to the real business.--I hope everyone is hungry. Let's be polite, and eat very slowly to make it last out. It's such a blank feeling at a picnic when the feed's over,--like a wedding when the bride has gone. When we've done, the gulls shall have their turn. _Do_ gulls eat mayonnaise?" Cassandra was conscious of a certain effort in the light babble. She suspected that Grizel was forcing herself to talk, to ease the strain, which like a low rumble of thunder had underlain the peace of the last week. In the midst of her own pain, she felt a pang of regret for her hostess,--a pang of compunction for her own shortcomings. If only Bernard would be induced to return home! but as long as fine weather and good play were his portion, no persuasion would be of any avail. There was nothing for it but to set her teeth and endure, and--incidentally!-- to make things as little trying as possible for other people. She sent a smile across the table to cheer Grizel's heart.