I was sure, and told my brother so.

We were both starving, but there was too much to do in the dining-room
for domestics to expect attention. As for Monsieur le Chauffeur, he was
informed that the presence of a mechanician would be permitted in the
_salle a manger_, though a _femme de chambre_ might not enter there. I
begged him to go, but, of course, I should have been surprised if he
had. "I have a plan worth two of that," he said to me. "Do you remember
the picnic preparations we brought from Nimes? It seems about a week
ago, but it was only this morning. We might as well try to eat on a
battlefield as in this kitchen, at present, and if we're kept waiting,
we may develop cannibal propensities. What about a picnic _a deux_ in
the glass cage, with electric illuminations? The water's still hot in
the automatic heater under the floor, and you shall be as warm as toast.
Besides, I'll grab a jug of blazing soup for a first course, and come
back for coffee afterward."

I clapped my hands as I used to when a child and my fun-loving young
parents proposed an open air fete. "Oh, how too nice!" I cried. "If you
don't think the Turnours would be angry?"

"I think the labourers are worthy of their hire," said he. "I'll fetch
your coat for you. No, you're not to come without it."

The car, it appeared, was lodged in the court; and my brother's
prophecies for the success of the picnic were more than fulfilled. Never
was such a feast! I got out the gorgeous tea-basket, trembling with a
guilty joy, and Jack washed the white and gold cups and plates at the
pump between courses, I drying them with cotton waste, which the car
generously provided. Besides the cabbage soup and good black coffee,
foraging expeditions produced apricot tarts, nuts, and raisins. We both
agreed that no food had ever tasted so good, and probably never would
again; but I kept to myself one thought which crept into my mind. It
seemed to me that nothing would ever be really interesting in my life,
when the chauffeur--the terrible, dreaded chauffeur--should have gone
out of it forever. In a few weeks--but I wouldn't think ahead; I put my
soul to enjoying every minute, even the tidying of the tea-basket after
the picnic was over, for that business he shared with me, like the rest.
And when I dreamed, by-and-by in my box-room, that he was polishing my
boots, Lady Turnour's boots, the boots of the whole party, I waked up to
tell myself that it was most likely tru