saw the
blue cup turn to gold, the sun reached the tops of the elms; the fields
were lit with the glitter of shining glass, then, even as he watched,
they were purple, then grey, then dim like smoke.

Again the voice called "Jeremy!" He slipped from the window, found the
little stair, ran across the dusky court and entered the house.

CHAPTER IX. THE AWAKENING OF CHARLOTTE

I

Towards the end of the first fortnight's stay at Cow Farm it was
announced that very shortly there would be a picnic at Rafiel Cove.

Jeremy had been waiting for this proclamation; once or twice he had
asked whether they were going to the Cove and had been told "not to
bother," "all in good time," and other ridiculous elderly finalities,
but he knew that the day must come, as it had always come every year.
The picnic at Rafield was always the central event of the summer. And
he had this year another reason for excited anticipation--the wonderful
Charlotte Le Page was to be present. Until now Jeremy had never taken
the slightest interest in girls. Mary and Helen, being his sisters, were
necessities and inevitabilities, but that did not mean that he could not
get along very easily without them, and indeed Mary with her jealousies,
her strange sulky temper and sudden sentimental repentances was
certainly a burden and restraint. As to the little girls in Polchester,
he had frankly found them tiresome and stupid, thinking of themselves,
terrified of the most natural phenomena and untruthful in their
statements. He had been always independent and reserved with everyone,
and bud never, in all his life, had a close friend, but there had been,
especially of late, boys with whom it had been amusing to spend an hour
or two, and since his fight with the Dean's Ernest he had thought that
it would be rather interesting to make a further trial of strength with
whomsoever...

Girls were stupid, uninteresting, conceited and slow. He never, in all
his life, wanted to have anything to do with girls. But Charlotte Le
Page was another matter. She had, in the first place, become quite
a tradition in the Cole family. She was the daughter of a wealthy
landowner, who always spent his holidays in Rafiel. She and her very
beautiful, very superior mother had been seen on many occasions by the
Coles driving about the Glebeshire roads in a fine and languid manner,
a manner to which the Coles knew, very well, they themselves could never
attain. Then Mrs. Cole h