When we returned to the tomb in the deep, dead stillness that followed the
storm, the dawn was just breaking and nobody had gone away. They were waiting
for our return. Saumarez most of all.
His face was white and drawn. As Miss Copleigh and I limped up, he came
forward to meet us, and, when he helped her down from her saddle, he kissed
her before all the picnic. It was like a scene in a theatre, and the likeness
was heightened by all the dust-white, ghostly-looking men and women under the
orange-trees, clapping their hands, as if they were watching a play--at
Saumarez's choice. I never knew anything so un-English in my life.
Lastly, Saumarez said we must all go home or the Station would come out to
look for us, and WOULD I be good enough to ride home with Maud Copleigh?
Nothing would give me greater pleasure, I said.
So, we formed up, six couples in all, and went back two by two; Saumarez
walking at the side of Edith Copleigh, who was riding his horse.
The air was cleared; and little by little, as the sun rose, I felt we were all
dropping back again into ordinary men and women and that the "Great Pop
Picnic" was a thing altogether apart and out of the world--never to happen
again. It had gone with the dust-storm and the tingle in the hot air.
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