There was a brief pause, while Molly debated the matter in her mind.
"You wouldn't take me back even if I were angry," she said.
"You have guessed it," said Jimmy approvingly. "Do you read much poetry, Molly?"
"Why?"
"I was only thinking how some of these poets put a thing. The chap who said, 'distance lends to the view,' for instance. Take the case of Wesson. He looks quite nice when you see him at a distance like this, with a good strip of water in between."
Mr. Wesson was still in a statuesque attitude on the bank. Molly, gazing over the side of the boat into the lake, from feasting her eyes on the spectacle.
"Jolly the water looks," said Jimmy.
"I was just thinking it looked rather dirty."
"Beastly," agreed Jimmy.
The water as a topic of conversation dried up. Mr. Wesson had started now to leave the stricken field. There was a reproachful look about his back which Molly's sensitive conscience. Jimmy, on the other hand—men being of coarser fibre than women, especially as to the conscience—appeared in no way at the sight.
"You oughtn't to have done it, Jimmy," said Molly.
"I had to. There seemed to be no other way of ever getting you by yourself for five minutes at a stretch. You're always in the middle of a crowd nowadays."
"But I must look after my guests."
"Not a bit of it. Let 'em rip. Why should they you?"
"It will be unpleasant meeting Mr. Wesson after this."
"It is always unpleasant meeting Wesson."
"I shan't know what to say."
"Don't say anything."
"I shan't be able to look him in the face."
"That's a bit of luck for you."
"You aren't much help, Jimmy."
"The subject of Wesson doesn't inspire me somehow—I don't know why. Besides, you've simply got to say you changed your mind. You're a woman. It's expected of you."
"I feel awfully mean."
"What you want to do is to take your thoughts off the business. Keep your mind occupied with something else. Then you'll forget all about it. Keep talking to me about things. That's the plan. There are heaps of subjects. The weather, for instance, as a start. Hot, isn't it?"
"We're going to have a storm. There's a sort of feel in the air. We'd better go back, I think."
"Tush! And possibly bah!" said Jimmy, digging the paddle into the water. "We've only just started. I say, who was that man I saw you talking to after lunch?"
"How soon after lunch?"
"Just before the . He was with your father. Short chap with a square face. Dressed in gray. I hadn't seen him before."
"Oh, that was Mr. Galer. A New York friend of father's."
"Did you know him out in New York?"
"I didn't. But he seems to know father very well."
"What's his name, did you say?"
"Galer. Samuel Galer. Did you ever hear of him?"
"Never. But there were several people in New York I didn't know. How did your father meet him over here?"
"He was stopping at the inn in the village, and he'd heard about the abbey being so old, so he came over to look at it, and the first person he met was father. He's going to stay in the house now. The cart was sent down for his things this afternoon. Did you feel a spot of rain then? I wish you'd paddle back."
"Not a drop. That storm's not coming till to-night. Why, it's a gorgeous evening."
He turned the nose of the boat toward the island, which lay, cool and green and mysterious, in the middle of the lake. The heat was intense. The sun, as if conscious of having only a brief spell of work before it, blazed fiercely, with the apparent intention of showing what it could do before the rain came. The air felt
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