"You saw--with the big key, the yard of cold iron. I got special leave from the owner--for this." "How very clever of you! How much better than anything _I_ could have arranged." "Approbation from Sir Hubert Stanley," he said, drawing the cork of the Rüdesheimer. "I do hope you _really_ like lobster salad." "And chicken and raspberries and cream, and everything. I like it all--and our dining-room--it's the most beautiful dining-room I ever had. I only thought of a wood, or a field, or perhaps a river, for Thursday." "You did mean to have a picnic for Thursday?" "Yes, but this is much better. It's a better place than I could have found, and besides--" "Besides--?" "It isn't Thursday." When luncheon, a merry meal and a leisurely, was over, they leaned against a fallen pillar and rested their eyes on the beauty of green floor, red walls, and the blue sky roofing all. And above the skylarks sang. "There's nothing between us now," he said, contentedly--"no cloud, no misunderstanding." "No," she answered, "and I don't want there ever to be anything between us. So I'm going to tell you about Chester--the thing that worried me and I couldn't tell. Do you remember?" "I think I do," he said, grimly. "Only you must promise you won't be angry." "With you?" he asked, incredulously. "No . . . with him . . . and you must try to believe that it is true. No, of course not; I don't mean you're not likely to believe what _I_ say, but what he said." "Please," he pleaded, "I'm a patient man, but. . . ." So she told him the whole story of Mr. Schultz, and, at the end, waited for him to give voice to the anger that, from the very touch of his hand on hers, she knew he felt. But what he said was: "It was entirely my fault. I ought never to have left you alone for an instant." "You thought I was to be trusted," she said, a little bitterly, "and I couldn't even stay where you left me. But you do believe what he said?" "I'll try to," he answered. "After all, he needn't have said anything--and if _you_ believe it-- Look here, let's never think of him or speak of him again, will you? We agreed, didn't we, that Mr. Schultz was only a bad dream, and that he never really happened. And there's nothing now between us at all . . . no concealments?" "There's one," she said, in a very small voice, "but it's so silly I don't think I _can_ tell you." "Try," said he. "I could tell of the silliest things. And after that there's one more thing I wish you'd tell me, if you can. You _are_ happy, aren't you? You are glad that we're together again?" "Yes," she said. "Oh yes!" "And this morning you weren't?" "Oh, but I was, I was! It was only-- That's the silly thing I want to tell you. But you'll laugh." "It wasn't a laughing matter to me." "I know I was hateful." "It was--bewildering. I couldn't understand why everything was all wrong and then, suddenly, everything was all right."