Miss Brent suddenly twisted herself around in the boat, and reached for an especially big lily.
“No—” she said, “I—I don’t think I was there. Will you pull a little on the left oar—a little more, please. It’s that lily I want!”
“There’s another thing about girls,” resumed Allardyce meditatively and kindly, when the boat had straightened back. “You seem to think it a terrible calamity, a disgrace, to get plucked in an examination. Now a man takes it philosophically. Of course, it isn’t a thing one especially cares to have happen one; but it doesn’t destroy a fellow’s interest in life, nor make him feel particularly ashamed of himself. He just goes to work with a tutor and hopes for better luck next time. That’s the best way to take it, don’t you think? But perhaps you don’t know anything about it. Ever get plucked?—I beg your pardon,” he added hastily.
But the girl did not appear at all offended.
“Oh, you mustn’t ask that,” she said, leaning back and laughing at him; “at any rate,” she added, with an air of careful consideration, “I don’t think I ever got ‘plucked’ in—mathematics. And now you must take me back.”
Allardyce gave a shudder of mock horror. “Oh, mathematics!” he said, picking up the oars.
When they were half-way across the lake Allardyce saw a young girl standing on the shore waving at them.
“Why,” he said, looking intently at the figure, “I believe it is my sister.”
Miss Brent leaned forward.
“Yes, it is your sister,” she said slowly, and she smiled a little.