Or if she went out it was to buy
cheaply from the barrows in a mean side street. And now she was
remembering that there were trees somewhere, perhaps in bloom.
Even Miss Edwards looked queerly dashed and distressed.
"Now you're asking something, Miss Forsyth. There are trees in this
little old village, but they aren't real somehow, and I never notice
'em. Well, we'll know on Monday. Please Heaven, it doesn't rain."
"I want to get out," Cosgrave muttered; "out of here--right away----"
"I've not had a picnic--not since I was a kid. But I haven't forgotten
it, though. Heaps to eat--and an appetite---- Oh, my!"
"And you can go on eating and eating," Francey added greedily, "and it
doesn't seem to matter."
"Egg and cress sandwiches----"
"Ham pie----"
"Sardines----"
"Russian salad--mayonnaise----"
"And something jolly in a bottle."
They laughed at one another. But after that the quiet returned again.
Francey sat with her hands clasped behind her head and her chair
tip-tilted against the wall. To Robert, who watched her from out of
the shadow, she seemed to be drifting farther and farther away on a
dark, quiet, flowing river.
It grew to dusk. The car had long since set out on its unknown
journey. The narrow street with its pungent stable odour had sunk into
one of those deep silences which lie scattered like secret pools along
the route of London's endless processions. And presently Mr. Ricardo,
who had not moved or spoken, but had sat hunched together like a
captive bird, leant forward with his finger to his lips.
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