“It’s an ideal spot for a camp,” declared Stephen with enthusiasm.  “Is it yours, Kendrick?  I congratulate you.  Invite me up here in the hunting season, will you?  I can’t imagine anything snugger.  May we look inside?”

“By all means!  It’s barely finished—­it’s entirely rough inside—­but I thought it would do for our supper to-night.”

“Do!” Rosamond gave a little cry of delight as she looked in at the open door.  “Rough!  You don’t want it smoother.  Does he, Rob?  Look at the rustic table and benches!  And will you behold that splendid fireplace?  Oh, all you want here is the right company!”

“And that I surely have.”  Richard made her a little bow, his face emphasizing his words.  He went over to a cupboard in the wall, of which there were two, one on either side of the fireplace.  He threw it open, disclosing hampers.  “Here is our supper, I expect.  Are you hungry?  It’s up to us to serve it.  I didn’t have the man stay; I thought it would be more fun to see to things ourselves.”

“A thousand times more,” Rosamond assured him, looking to Roberta for confirmation, who nodded, smiling.

They fell to work.  Hats were removed, riding skirts were fastened out of the way, hampers were opened and the contents set forth.  Everything that could possibly be needed was found in the hampers, even to coffee, steaming hot in the vacuum bottles as it had been poured into them.

“Some other time we’ll come up and rough it,” Richard explained, when Stephen told him he was no true camper to have everything prepared for him in detail like this; “but to-night I thought we’d spend as little time in preparations as possible and have the more of the evening.  It will be a Midsummer Night’s Dream on this hill to-night,” said he, with a glance at Roberta which she would not see.

Presently they sat down, Roberta finding herself opposite their host, with the necessity upon her of eating and drinking like a common mortal, though she was dwelling in a world where it seemed as if she did not know how to do the everyday things and do them properly.  It was a delicious meal, no doubt of that, and at least Stephen and Rosamond did justice to it.

“But you’re not eating anything yourself, man,” remonstrated Stephen, as Richard pressed upon him more cold fowl and delicate sandwiches supplemented by a salad such as connoisseurs partake of with sighs of appreciation, and with fruit which one must marvel to look upon.

“You haven’t been watching me, that’s evident,” returned Richard, demonstrating his ability to consume food with relish by seizing upon a sandwich and making away with it in short order.

Roberta rose.  “I can eat no more,” she said, “with that wonderful sky before me out there.”  She escaped to the porch.

They all turned to exclaim at a gorgeous colouring beginning in the west, heralding the sunset which was coming.  Rosamond ran out also, Stephen following.  Richard produced cigars.