Burke, having heaped her plate with lobster mayonnaise, established himself beside her, and proceeded to catechise her about her recent experience. “Did the lady--what’s her name, Keturah?--tell you when you were going to marry me?” he demanded in an undertone, his dare-devil eyes laughing down at her impudently. “No, she did not. She only foresees things that are really going to happen,” retorted Jean. “Well, that is”--composedly. “She can’t be much good at her job if she missed seeing it.” “Well,” Jean affected to consider--“the nearest she got to it was that she saw ‘darkness coming... black darkness.’” Under cover of the general preoccupation in lunch and conversation, Burke’s hand closed suddenly over hers. “You little devil!” he said, half amused, half sulky. “I’ll make you pay for that.” But out here, in the wind-swept, open spaces of the Moor, Jean felt no fear of him. “First catch your hare----” she retaliated defiantly. He regarded her tensely for a moment. “I’ll take your advice,” he said briefly. Then he added: “Did you know that I’m driving you back in my cart this afternoon?” Various cars and traps and saddle horses had brought the party together at the appointed rendezvous--a little village on the outskirts of the Moor, and Jean had driven up with Blaise in one of the Staple cars. She looked at Burke now, in astonishment. “You certainly are not,” she replied quickly. “I shall go back as I came--in the car.” “Quite impossible. It’s broken down. They rashly brought on the lunch hampers in it, across that God-forsaken bit of moor road--with disastrous consequences to the car’s internals. So that you and Tormarin have got to be sorted into other conveyances. And I’ve undertaken to get you home.” Jean’s face fell a little. Throughout the drive up to the Moor Blaise had seemed less remote and more like his old self than at any time since their quarrel, and she could guess that this arrangement of Burke’s was hardly likely to conduce towards the continuance of the new peace. “How will Blaise get home?” she asked. “They can squeeze him into her car, Judy says. It’ll be a tight fit, but he can cling on by his eyelashes somehow.” “I think it would be a better arrangement if you drove Blaise and I went back in the car with your sister,” suggested Jean. “There’s certainly not room for two extra in the car. There isn’t really room for one.” “There wouldn’t be two. You would drive Blaise.” “Pardon me. I should do nothing of the sort.” “Do you mean”--incredulously--“that you would refuse?” “Oh, I should invent an armour-plated reason. A broken spring in the dog-cart or something. But I do mean that if I don’t drive you, I drive no one.” Jean looked at him vexedly. “Well,” she said uncertainly, “we can’t have a fuss at a picnic.” “No,” agreed Burke. “So I’m afraid you’ll have to give in.”