Just what was in her mind when she said that? There was something about the words, the tone, the manner, that stirred Miss Silver’s professional instinct. Perhaps stirred is too strong a word. The instinct was a very sensitive one. It received and responsed to the faintest possible touch.

Helen Adrian was quite unaware of having touched anything at all. She said,

“You’ll come, won’t you?”

There was that almost imperceptible stimulus, there was Miss Silver’s quite insatiable interest in other people’s lives, and there was something else. It was this with which she chose to cloak her acceptance.

“Thank you, I shall be very pleased to come. I shall be interested to meet Mr. Cunningham. A cousin of his is a valued friend. Will you thank Miss Remington for her invitation?”

Helen Adrian said,

“That’s all right. They tell me there’s a bus from the hotel at a quarter past four, and you can’t miss the house. Come along and give us all the once over.”

The distaste with which Miss Silver heard this final remark very nearly made her retract her acceptance, but, before she had time to do more than experience a strong desire to say that after all she did not think that she could leave her niece, Miss Adrian had rung off.

She turned round, to see little Josephine with the marks of tears on her face partaking of half a dozen small pieces of crust especially cut for the purpose, since the pieces so naughtily rejected could hardly be gathered up from the floor and put back in her bowl of bread and milk. Encountering Miss Silver’s eye, she waved her spoon and remarked in a virtuous tone,

“Josephine good girl now.”

Chapter 17

Just what had put the idea of a communal picnic into Miss Remington’s head it was impossible to say. She had liked men’s society, and always felt herself to have been unfairly deprived of it. This, and the fact that the next-door party appeared to have been augmented by two attractive men, may have been a contributory cause. There may have been other reasons-a desire to annoy Marian and Ina, who would doubtless prefer to keep their own party intact-Felix, whose manner had been quite insufferably rude for days-and her sister Florence, who detested picnics but would certainly not stay at home and allow Cassy to play hostess and run the show. Be this as it may, the idea having been once entertained, it became an overriding necessity that it should be put into action. As Eliza Cotton had it, “When Miss Cassy takes a thing into her head, she’ll go through with it whether or no.”

Cakes were baked, sandwiches were cut, everyone in both houses was pressed into service, and Florence Brand’s afternoon rest was interfered with. Not that she herself took any part in the preparations-on that point she could be, and was, inflexible. But how enjoy the meditative calm so propitious to digestion-the feet on a raised stool, a cushion behind the head, a light wrap over the knees, and a book whose pages were never turned laid open there-when Cassy was liable at any moment to come running in for this, that or the other, and go running out again, very likely omitting to close the door? Mrs. Brand’s slow, mounting resentment not only banished sleep, but induced a heavy frown and an unbecoming purple flush.

The dislike which she usually felt for the other inmates of the house assumed menacing proportions. Felix had been behaving abominably. She had never been fond of him, and she now found him quite unendurable. Helen Adrian was a light woman-in her own mind she used a blunter term than this. Marian Brand and her sister had practically stolen Martin’s money. When she considered all she had done for that man, giving up her independence to come and look after him, it just didn’t bear thinking about. She practically never stopped thinking about it. Penny was a little fool. No doubt she had thought that Felix would be a good catch, and now she couldn’t have him she had no more pride than to let everyone see how disappointed she was. Eliza Cotton-there was ingratitude and treachery if you like. A low, impertinent creature, ready to go wherever there was money to get, and probably counting on making a good thing out of the weekly books. Marian Brand wouldn’t know whether she was being cheated or not. As for Cassy, she was simply getting up this picnic in order to push herself forward. That was Cassy from the nursery-playing up, and showing off, and pulling things round to suit herself. Her anger mounted, and her heavy blood.

It was a warm afternoon, but there was quite a pleasant breeze off the sea. Miss Silver had found it hot in the bus. She wore her olive-green cashmere and her black cloth coat, which she would not have cared to remove in a public conveyance. She was, therefore, very much pleased to find that it was pleasantly fresh in the cove. There was, of course, no shade, a circumstance which made her compare the seaside unfavourably with places such as glades, where a picnic meal could be partaken of under the boughs of some stately oak or spreading chestnut-these being the adjectives which presented themselves to her mind in this connection. She had, however, provided herself with a neat striped umbrella belonging to her niece Ethel, which could be used as a sunshade.

It was not really a comfortable meal. Of the two elder ladies, Mrs. Brand was in a state of smouldering anger which she made no attempt to conceal, and Miss Remington was as sharp, restless and disturbing as a wasp. No sooner did any two people fall into a conversation than she broke in upon it, dancing hither and thither, pressing food on people who did not want it, snatching at the half-emptied cup in order to brim it with bitter tea, and generally making everyone as uncomfortable as possible.

Helen Adrian, who had begun a low-toned interchange with Cyril Felton, was driven into relinquishing him, but no sooner had she started all over again with Richard Cunningham than Miss Cassy broke off her own conversation with Cyril to say with an edge to her voice,

“Dear me, Helen, I had no idea that Mr. Cunningham was your friend. We all thought it was Marian he had come to see.” She turned to Miss Silver. “So romantic, you know- they were buried under a train together for hours.”

Marian found herself able to smile.

“You wouldn’t have thought it so romantic if you had been there,” she said. “Poor Richard had two ribs broken, and I thought I was never going to get the dust out of my hair. I came home looking as if I had robbed a scarecrow. You never saw such a mess.”

Across the currents of enmity of which Miss Silver was intelligently aware she saw Richard Cunningham’s eyes rest for a moment upon Marian Brand, and she thought that Miss Cassy had spoken a true word in bitter jest. It was a very fleeting look, and perhaps no one else saw it at all. She went on taking everything in whilst she made a little difficult conversation to Mrs. Brand, who could hardly be induced to say more than yes or no, and pronounced even those monosyllables in an inimical manner.

Ina Felton and Penny Halliday were both unhappy. She saw Penny look once at Felix Brand’s dark, tormented face with the unguarded look of a mother watching her sick child. It had nothing to hide and everything to give. It suffered because he was suffering. Helen Adrian never looked at him at all. She laughed and jested with Cyril Felton. She slipped her hand inside Richard Cunningham’s arm and dropped her voice to reach his ear alone.

Ina kept her eyes on the fine shingle of the cove. There were small shells mixed with it, most of them broken to pieces by the grinding of the stones. You have to be tough, or you get ground to bits. The shell hasn’t really got much chance.

The meal came to an end, a good deal to everyone’s relief. Whilst Miss Cassy was making the three men gather up the fragments and re-pack the picnic-basket Miss Silver approached Helen Adrian.