"Well," she murmured timorously. "You understand what I mean."
He drummed his elegant feet on the striated deck. Out of the corner of his left eye he saw the mediaeval shape of the Tower rapidly disappearing. In front were the variegated funnels and masts of fleets gathered together in St. Katherine's Dock and London Dock. The steamer gained speed as she headed from Cherry Gardens Pier towards the middle of the river. She was a frail trifle compared with the big boats that
lined the wharves; but in herself she had size and irresistible force, travelling quite smoothly over the short, riotous, sparkling waves which her cut-water divided and spurned away on either side. Only a tremor faintly vibrated throughout her being.
"Has he forgiven you for being engaged?" George demanded, with rough sarcasm.
She showed no resentment of his tone, but replied gently:
"I did try to mention it once, but it was no use—he wasn't in a condition. He made me quite afraid—not for me of course, but for him."
"Well, I give it up!" said George. "I simply give it up! It's past me. How soon's he going to be in condition? He can't keep us walking about the streets for ever."
"No, of course not!" She smiled to placate him.
There was a pause, and then George, his eyes fixed on her hand, remarked:
"I see you've got your ring on."