"Five miles per beauteous lady is not an extravagant addition to the petrol allowance." Roger had no spared the bottle. "How say you, Judge?"
"As you say, sir, it's not worth considering-especially when I have the pleasure of your society thrown in."
Blanche's brow was puckered, as though an idea had occurred to her. "I wonder, Mr. Judge, if it would be possible to arrange a picnic-luncheon on the grounds-or the house itself, according to the weather? It would be rather jolly. The hotel people here would make us up a hamper."
"Not at all," said Judge. "I'll see to that myself. It's a capital suggestion, for it will give us more time to look round."
"But really, that's the woman's department, and we can't allow you."
"I insist, Mrs. Stokes. I'm an obstinate man, and there's no more to be said. I'll bring the hamper along with me, and call for you at…ten-eleven…?"
"Call it eleven," said Roger. "I'm a late riser. We'll lunch first, and saunter through the house afterwards. Don't forget the wine."
The girls scolded him; he defended himself with new jokes and drank off another glass. The coffee came on. The younger people lit cigarettes, but Judge reserved his after-dinner cigar till later.
Mrs. Moor, who had been silent throughout the meal, grew more irritated as she saw the minutes fly by without bringing her any nearer to an exchange of views with Judge. She momentarily expected to see him rise from the table and take his departure, leaving her still in ignorance of his intentions. Perhaps it wasn't deliberate avoidance of the topic on his part, but it began to look very much like it. Isbel glanced at her aunt anxiously; she read her thoughts with perfect distinctness.
"You're very quiet to-night, aunt."
"You others are doing quite well without my help."
"Mr. Judge has asked me to intercede for him."
Mrs. Moor stiffened. "What is it?"
"He wants another extension of time, before giving you a final decision."
"Really, Mr. Judge…"
"It can't be helped, aunt, and we mustn't be stupid about it. How long do you want, Mr. Judge?"
"Shall we say a fortnight?" His manner was strangely embarrassed. "I may not need all of that. If not, I would notify you at once."
Mrs. Moor eyed him sternly. "A fortnight, then. You quite understand my inquiries for a house are continuing in the meantime?"
"That is but fair."
"A firm offer on my part wouldn't expedite matters, I presume?"
"I regret to say 'no'. The financial question does not arise at present."
Baffled by his formal tone and the distant gravity of his demeanour, she retired into silence, to nurse her displeasure. Isbel turned in her seat to glance at Judge, and uttered a quiet little laugh.
"I'm afraid you won't be altogether in her good graces now. It's my fault."
"Since I have the misfortune to be obliged to displease one of you, I would rather it were she."
"I know that." Her voice was very low, but he caught the words, and his face took on a deeper colour.
"How do you know it?"
"Because we are already friends."
Both turned away, moved by the same impulse. A minute later, however, Isbel whispered to him again:
"In case I ever need it, what is your address at Worthing?"
"The Metropole."
She thanked him, and turned finally to Roger.
"Isbel seems to find a lot to talk about with Judge," Marshall had just been remarking to his sister-in-law.
"No cause for alarm, dear boy-she only wants his house."
"Do you tell me she's deliberately laying herself out to be pleasant…?"
"Don't you ever use diplomacy in your trade? One has to fight with what weapons one's got. You're in on this too, Marshall. I suppose you do want to get Billy to yourself one day, don't you? Well, then-hurry up and find Mrs. Moor a house."
Shortly afterward the party rose from table, and judge immediately took his departure.
Chapter VIII THE PICNIC
At mid-day on Monday, Judge's Daimler pulled up outside the hall porch at Runhill Court. Roger jumped out and assisted the girls to alight, after which Judge himself got down. Beneath the motoring wraps, Blanche and Isbel wore light summer dresses, for, although it was already October, the sky was cloudless and the sun hot. All congratulated themselves on the happy selection of such a day for their excursion.
"Where do we go?" laughed Blanche.
Judge was struggling to get out the baskets. He deposited the second one on the ground and dusted his hands.
"We're going to picnic in a very charming spot, Mrs. Stokes. Leave it to me. Mr. Stokes, as the younger man, the bigger basket falls to you."
"Thanks! How far is it?"
"Come on!" said his wife. "Never mind how far-we'll all give a hand. You and I will tackle the big one, Roger; Mr. Judge can take the smaller; Billy can carry the rug."
"Won't you leave your wraps, though?" inquired Judge. "It seems to me that once or twice I've half caught a glimpse of something very enticing underneath. The grass should be moderately dry."
"You haven't forgotten the wine, Judge?" demanded Roger. "If I work, I want pay. The girls' frocks leave me uninspired, more especially as my wife's hasn't been settled for yet. I don't stir a step till I know what's in that basket."
"This is a picnic, not an orgy," said Blanche reprovingly.
Judge lifted the smaller hamper. "I saw the wine go in, and I believe it's very good stuff."
"But you're a horrid sybarite, Roger," put in Isbel. "Why is it that strong and healthy young men are invariably the most self-indulgent?" She removed her wrap and flung it carelessly in the car; Blanche followed suit.
"I like that. You women pass your whole lives delighting your souls with fine raiment, and then you have the cool impudence to rebuke us for indulgence."
"Personally, I regard feminine adornment not only as justifiable, but as a public duty," remarked Judge. "One can hardly say as much for the private pleasures of me."
Roger chuckled. "If you carry on in that strain you'll make yourself popular. Look at the girls, drinking it all in with open mouths."
"Mr. Judge is a knight," said Isbel coldly. "You are only a jester, Roger."
"But is it good to be a knight, fair lady?"
"So it seems to my poor intelligence."
"'Tis a most dangerous profession. Your knight is a flatterer. But your flatterer may well end by becoming regarded as personal property. I shall remain a jester, I think."
They started off, by Judge's direction, along the terrace which skirted the front of the house. Blanche and Roger went on ahead, bearing the larger hamper between them, while Isbel and Judge fell behind, the latter carrying the small basket.
Isbel looked pensive. After a minute she said: "That last remark of Roger's was as bitter as it was untrue. It makes out that we women are incapable of discriminating between personal and impersonal flattery. It isn't words that we go by; it's the man himself-his character."
"I imagine so. But, still, pleasant words lead to friendship."
"Sometimes, perhaps. The best kind of friendships more than empty compliments."
"And what do you understand by the best kind of friendship-between persons of opposite sex?"
She coloured faintly. "It is one of those things which are more easily known to oneself than defined."
"For a friendship like that requires great tact, and tact is not of the brain. It is very delicate instinct."
"Yes. And that's why I am so glad to have you for a friend Mr. Judge-for I feel certain that you possess this…tact, in the highest degree…However, it would make no difference. We shall soon see no more of each other?"
"Can't we arrange to the contrary?"
"How? We shall be leaving this part of the country almost directly, and you know we don't know the same people. It's extremely unlikely we shall ever meet again."