“Don’t refuse,” he reiterated.  “Look at the sunshine, listen to the birds, think of a whole day in the open!  I’ll take you to the loveliest place I know in this quaint little island, and I’ll be your slave all day long.  Oh, I promise you won’t find me in the way.  Now don’t look prudish.  Be a girl for once.  Never mind the rest of creation.  No one else will know anything about it.  We leave Baronmead this morning in the motor, and who cares what time we reach the Manor?  It can’t matter to you or anyone.  Say you’ll come!  Say it!”

“My dear Nap!” Anne looked at him dubiously, uncertain whether to take him seriously.

“Say it!” he repeated.  “There is no earthly reason why you shouldn’t.  And I’ll take such care of you.  Why shouldn’t you have a real good time for once?  You never have had in all your life.”

True, only too true!  But it was not that fact that made her waver.

“Will you tell me what plans you have made for this picnic?” she asked at length.

He began to smile.  “My plans, Lady Carfax, are entirely subject to your approval.  About forty miles from here there is a place called Bramhurst—­a place after your own heart—­a paradise.  With judicious driving we could be there by one or soon after—­in time for luncheon.”

“Yes?” she said, as he stopped.

“That’s all,” said Nap.

“But—­afterwards?” she hazarded.

“My dear Lady Carfax, if it is to be a surprise picnic, where’s the use of settling all the details beforehand?” Nap’s tone was one of indulgent protest; he was eating and drinking rapidly, as if he had an appointment to keep.  “My suggestion is that we then follow our inclinations—­your inclinations.”  He smiled at her again.  “I am your slave till sunset.”

“Could we be back at the Manor by then?” she asked.

“Of course we could.”

“Will you promise that we shall be?” She looked up at him seriously.

He was still smiling.  “If you ordain it,” he said.

“I must be back by dinner-time,” she asserted.

“And you dine?”

“At eight.”

He pushed back his chair and rose.  “Very discreet of you!  The sun sets at eight-ten.  At what hour will you deign to be ready?”

“At eleven,” said Anne.

He glanced at his watch.  “I am afraid you can’t see Lucas to say good-bye.  Hudson has just given him morphia.”

“Is he so bad then?” she asked quickly.

“No worse than he has been before.  Bad pain all night.  He always fights against taking the stuff.  I persuaded him.”  He spoke shortly, as if the subject were distasteful to him.  “No doubt he is easier by this time,” he added.  “Eleven o’clock then!  I will go and get ready.”  But even then he paused, his hand on the back of her chair.  “Can you keep a secret?” he asked lightly.

She glanced up at him.  “A secret?”

“An it please you,” he said, “let this be a secret between yourself and your humble slave!”