“Ask him, my dear, ask him. Here he is, and here is luncheon,” she answered gaily. “What shall we do this afternoon?” was the question that went round the table. “It’s too hot to ride, too hot for tennis. What shall we do?” “Go and eat fruit in the garden,” suggested Geoffrey serenely. “What, the _whole_ afternoon?” exclaimed Reginald aghast. “Let us first gather some fruit, and then go for a walk up to the top of Beecher’s Hill,” put in Miss Ferrars. “Energetic young person! I admire, but I decline to emulate your pedestrian powers,” said Geoffrey, putting up his eye-glass and gazing at her with calm approval. “To Beecher’s Hill we will go by all means,” assented Helen. “I am quite in the humour for a nice stroll.” “It’s a pretty steep stroll I can tell you! Don’t expect me to pull you up the hill.” “I never expect any politeness from _you_, Geoffrey,” she replied with a smile. “What a lazy, good-for-nothing boy you are! Let us all go and get ready; by the time we start it will be nearly four o’clock.” “But it would be madness to start now,” expostulated Alice; “think of toiling uphill in this broiling sun! Wait till it is a little cooler.” “The walk in the sun will do Helen good. She wants severe exercise badly,” said Geoffrey, looking at her dispassionately. “If you were to put on a couple of sealskin jackets, Reginald’s poshteen, and my frieze ulster, you would be wise.” “You are raving, my good Geoffrey! Too much dancing has affected your reason,” replied Mrs. Mayhew. “I have method in my madness at any rate--the symmetry of your figure at heart,” responded the young man, with an air of deep interest. “I’m not a bit stouter than Mrs. Russell, whom you profess to admire so much.” “I don’t admire her at all! She is like a bolster tied in the middle,” remonstrated Geoffrey vehemently. “She has a figure like a cottage loaf.” “You may as well make him a present of the last word, Helen,” observed Alice, taking her by the arm and leading her out of the room. “There is no use arguing with him, he has _such_ a tongue, and he is utterly unscrupulous as to what he says.” “People who live in glass houses should not throw stones,” shouted Geoffrey. “There!” exclaimed Alice, stopping with one foot on the stairs, “I knew it! I told you he would have the last word. No one can silence him but Reginald, and, to quote Geoffrey’s own language, he shuts him up beautifully.” Five o’clock found the walking party reclining in various luxurious attitudes on the top of Beecher’s Hill--they had evidently but recently arrived. Alice and Geoffrey had scooped out a comfortable nest in the side of a haycock, without loss of time, and were resting after their joint labours.