This was seemingly an important piece of intelligence. Yes, there was a decided alacrity about getting under way. Hunger is a vulgar, but a very human weakness, and soon every one set off in the wake of scatter-brained Toby and Miss Paske; and nothing but a few scraps of newspaper and cigar-ends marked the conclusion of what is known to this day in Shirani as the “Great Starvation Picnic.” CHAPTER XXII. TOBY JOY’S SHORT CUT. Honor Gordon and Sir Gloster sent their ponies on ahead--as the path was all downhill--and elected to walk. To tell the truth, the gentleman was a nervous rider, and greatly preferred pedestrian exercise. It was an ominous fact, that whereas Sir Gloster had closely accompanied Miss Gordon and her escort on their way to the picnic--so much so, indeed, as to be almost always within earshot--he now brusquely shook off any of the party who evinced a desire to attach themselves to him and his companion. “Miss Paske was most amusing as a fortune-teller and all that sort of thing,” he remarked, “but were you not rather uneasy about your future?” “Not a bit”--contemptuously kicking a little cone downhill; “she made it up as she went along.” “She was awfully down on young Jervis. What a career she painted for him, poor beggar!” “The wish was doubtless father to the thought. She does not like him.” “And the idea of her saying that you would not be married till you were forty! As if you could not marry to-morrow, if you chose!” Honor began to feel uncomfortable and to long for the presence of a third person: she made a lively gesture of dissent as she prepared to scramble down an exceedingly steep and greasy footpath. “You know you could,” pursued Sir Gloster, seizing her hand, by way of giving her assistance, and nearly precipitating her to mother earth. “For example, you might marry _me_.” Miss Paske had just assured him that he would succeed in his aims, and he was resolved to test her prophecy without delay. “Oh, Sir Gloster!” exclaimed the young lady, vainly trying to release her fingers. “You will let me keep this dear little hand for ever? I fell in love with you almost from the first. You are beautiful and musical, and would understand at once the fitness of things. My mother would like you. Do you think you could care for me, and all that sort of thing?” “Oh, Sir Gloster,” she repeated, pausing on the path, a sudden red suffusing her cheeks, and looking at him with real dismay, “I like you--but not in that way.” “Perhaps I have been too sudden. If I were to wait a week or two. Let me talk to your aunt?” “No, no, please”--with anxious repudiation. “It would make no difference. I am sorry, but I never, never could care for you as you wish.”