"My dear Agatha," replied Mildred, laughing, "what is to be done? Of
course the man is hot, you are not a feather-weight; but what is to be
done?"
"I don't know, but I won't go on with him, it's simply disgusting; he
might let himself out as a watering-cart."
"But we can't get another here."
"Then he must cool himself, the others might come and fan him. I won't
go on till he is cool, and that's flat."
"He will take hours to cool, and meanwhile we are broiling on this hot
road. You really must come on, Agatha."
"I have it," said Arthur. "Miss Terry must turn herself round with her
head towards the back of the hammock, and then she won't see him."
To this arrangement the aggrieved lady was after some difficulty
persuaded to accede, and the procession started again.
Their destination reached, they picnicked as they had arranged, and
then separated, the bride and bridegroom strolling off in one
direction, and Mildred and Arthur in another, whilst Miss Terry
mounted guard over the plates and dishes.
Presently Arthur and Mildred came to a little English-looking grove of
pine and oak, that extended down a gentle slope and was bordered by a
steep bank, at the foot of which great ferns and beautiful Madeira
flowers twined themselves into a shelter from the heat.
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