"A sturdy beggar, at any rate."
It was the poorest little joke, but love is not exacting of wit. Again we both laughed, but this time with more relief, and yet the embarrassment that followed was greater.
"Must you go?" I asked as I bent down to pull the boat in.
"I really must," she answered shyly; and then as she pulled out a tiny watch at her waist—"Oh! I am late—so late. I shall keep mother waiting and make her lose the train. What shall I do? Oh, pray, sir, be quick!"
A mad hope coursed through me; I pointed to the boat and said—
"I have made it so wet. If you are late, better let me row you. Where are you going?"
"To Streatley; but I cannot—"
"I also am going to Streatley. Please let me row you: I will not speak if you wish it."
Over her face, now so beautifully agitated, swept the rarest of blushes. "Oh no, it is not that, but I can manage quite well"—her manner gave the lie to her brave words—"and I shall not mind the wet."
"If I have not offended you, let me row."