Through the week following that unhappy day she was perpetually looking forward to the next Saturday afternoon. She built her hopes on the quiet tête-à-tête walk, wherein she might be able to break through this barrier, to win her way back to him again. She did not know exactly what to say or how to say it; but she was resolved to lead him to the subject of the postscript, to explain how, after the first wrong step, she had been entangled by her fears in a crooked path, to appeal to his pity, to make out somehow a better case for herself.
Saturday came, and at breakfast Nigel said, "I am afraid I shall not be much in to-day."
Fulvia gave him a startled look.
"Where are you going?" asked Daisy.
"Malcolm and I talk of a row on the river."
"That will be jolly! You have not been on the river for ever so long. Only you two? Will Ethel go?"
"No."
"When do you start?" Fulvia inquired, trying to speak indifferently.
"Half-past two or three."
"And you will be home—?"