“Supposing I haven’t? That doesn’t prove it’s not true.”
“But you’re often here at the time?”
“Never,” answered Charlie with emphasis. “I always go away before the time.”
“Then you’d better come now. Put the canoe to bed and walk with me.”
Charlie Merceron thrust his hands into his pockets and smiled at his companion. He was tall also, and just able to look down on her.
“No,” he said, “I’m not going yet.”
“How rude—oh, there it is again, Charlie! I saw it! I’m—I’m frightened,” and her healthy color paled a trifle, as she laid a hand on Charlie’s arm.
“I tell you what,” observed Charlie. “If you have fancies of this kind you’d better not come here any more—not in the evening, at all events. You know people who think they’re going to see things always do see em.”
“My heart is positively beating,” said Miss Bushell. “I—I don’t quite like walking back alone.”
“I’ll see you as far as the road,” Charlie conceded, and with remarkable promptitude he led the way, turning his head over his shoulder to remark: