self
for the time being. He had taken a leaf from the book of the summer
folks; his stalwart calves revealed themselves in thick, ribbed
stockings; he wore knickerbockers and a Norfolk jacket of corduroy; he
had style as well as beauty, and he had the courage of his clothes and
looks. Westover was still in the first surprise of the American facts,
and he wondered just what part in the picnic Jeff was to bear socially.
He was neither quite host nor guest; but no doubt in the easy play
of the life, which Westover was rather proud to find so charming, the
question would solve itself rationally and gracefully.

"Where do you want the things?" the young fellow asked of the company at
large, as he advanced upon them from the green portals of the roadway,
pulling off his soft wool hat, and wiping his wet forehead with his
blue-bordered white handkerchief.

"Oh, right here, Jeff!" The nimblest of the nymphs sprang to her feet
from the lounging and crouching circle about Westover. She was a young
nymph no longer, but with a daughter not so much younger than herself as
to make the contrast of her sixteen years painful. Westover recognized
the officious, self-approving kind of the woman, but he admired the
brisk efficiency with which she had taken possession of the affair from
the beginning and inspired every one to help, in strict subordination to
herself.

When the cloths were laid on the smooth, elastic moss, and the meal
was spread, she heaped a plate without suffering any interval in her
activities.

"I suppose you've got to go back to your horses, Jeff, and you shall be
the first served," she said, and she offered him the plate with a bright
smile and friendly grace, which were meant to keep him from the hurt of
her intention.

Jeff did not offer to take the plate which she raised to him from where
she was kneeling, but looked down at her with perfect intelligence. "I
guess I don't want anything," he said, and turned and walked away into
the woods.

The ill-advised woman remained kneeling for a moment with her
ingratiating smile hardening on her face, while the sense of her blunder
petrified the rest. She was the first to recover herself, and she said,
with a laugh that she tried to make reckless, "Well, friends, I suppose
the rest of you are hungry; I know I am," and she began to eat.

The others ate, too, though their appetites might well have been
affected by the diplomatic behavior of Whitwell. He would not take