ite
headland jutted into the sea, and the sharp glare of the sun intensified
each colour in its turn, blue sea, bluer sky, white cliff, crowned by a
tangle of green. Inland, to the rear of the headland, lay fields of
oats and barley, interspersed with patches of yellow groundsel, and the
blaze of myriad poppies.

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