106 THE SILVER FOX 



hour. The clatter of tools died out in the 

 space of two seconds, and the men, swinging 

 themselves into their coats, straggled out 

 into the road, slouching, rolling, hitching, 

 and apparently untouched by the desire 

 of the ordinary human heart to keep 

 step. 



Their employer's picnic-party was already 

 established in the newly-roofed kitchen of 

 the new station, by a fire of chips and bits 

 of plank. A luncheon-basket stood on a 

 carpenter^s bench, a champagne-bottle on 

 the window-sill, and Lady Susan and 

 Slaney were sitting on boxes by the fire, 

 eating game pie. Lady Susan had violets 

 in her toque, and possessed more strikingly 

 than usual that air of being very handsome 

 that is not always given to handsome 

 people. Behind her the empty window 

 framed a gaunt mountain peak, a lake that 

 frittered a myriad sparkles from its wealth 

 of restless silver, and the grey and faint 

 purple of the naked wood beyond it. It 

 seemed too great a background for her 



