grateful shade. In the centre of the grove there was a small clearing, where some practical picnickers of bygone days had constructed a rough table and bench.
But this is splendid! the Countess exclaimed again, simply splendid!
Rapidly, she began to unpack the hamper, discovering therein a bottle of Queen Olives, four hard-boiled eggs, sandwiches fashioned from the white meat of chicken laid on slices of tomato, forks and knives, plates and glasses.
There is nothing to drink, the Countess complained. I forgot to ask Anna to include a bottle of cold tea.
There's water here, Gareth consoled her. Just back of those trees there is a spring. He disappeared behind a screen of hazel-brush, the twigs crepitating under his feet, soon returning, the two glasses in his hands full to the brim with cool, spring water.
Gareth, the Countess ejaculated, this makes me feel like a child again. We must come here every day!
There are other wonderful places . . .
O, I don't care where we go . . . but every day!
Until you tire of seeing me . . .
That will never happen.
Smiling, she began to munch a sandwich. What are those things on your legs? she demanded.
Burdock-burrs. He stooped to pluck them off.
