“No, no, no,” interrupted Emma. “I would not go, and, of course, Gwen——”
She hesitated. No, certainly, I could not accompany this nameless young man alone.
“Well, look here,” he said impetuously. “Let us do something to-morrow. This is Tuesday, and I’m off on Saturday morning, and shall not be in England again for ages. Have you any engagement?”
“No—none.” The very idea made her smile.
“Then what would you like to do? Would you care to go up the river? Start from Paddington about ten, go to Maidenhead, get a good boat, and lunch in the Cliveden Woods, or up some nice cool backwater, row down to Taplow, have tea at the inn, come back to town in time to dine and do the theater. How would that be?”
“Oh, Mr. Somers, you take away my breath! The expedition up the river would be as much as we can manage, and delightful, would it not, Gwen?” appealing to me.
“Yes,” I assented. “Delightful indeed, if it won’t be too much for you?”
“Not at all, my old-head-on-young-shoulders. She”—to our host—“takes such care of me, and manages all our affairs: she might be my mother! We will accept the river part of the program.”
“Then that is quite settled. I meet you to-morrow at ten o’clock sharp at Paddington?”