He crossed the bridge again, and stared at the pale-green houseboat. It lay very solitary, well off the bank, in a deep pool near the rushes. As far as he could make out, it appeared a luxurious well-fitted craft of moderate size, with an over awning and plenty of bright brass about it; while, swinging at its stern was a smart racing punt. Well, that told him nothing, unless perhaps that its owner was independent and well-to-do. He might discover, maybe, more at Datchet.
Oddly preoccupied, he continued his walk, lunched at Windsor, and leisurely towards evening returned to the village and strolled down upon the hard. The river looked pleasantly inviting, and a thought occurred to him. Averse from exciting too much curiosity, he decided upon hiring a boat and boatman, and, while being pulled up-stream, putting what cautious questions should occur to him. A minute or two later he was afloat.
“I was looking over the bridge this morning,” he said presently. “Who owns that green houseboat near by?”
“The Dragonfly, sir? Name of Dangerfield, sir,” said the man. “He’s said to be an acting gentleman. He took it off of another party for the season.”
“He makes the season a late one, it seems.” The man laughed—significantly, Gilead fancied. “Honeymooning, perhaps?” he continued. “I saw him, as I passed, put off with a lady.”
“Yes, I seen her,” said the man—“we all seen her, and like her looks as little as he seems to. It’s not his first. They comes and goes, and we asks no questions. This one turned up from nowhere three days ago. She was just there; and maybe in a week or so she’ll be gone. O, he’s a caution!”
Gilead bit his lip, considering awhile. “Why don’t you like her looks?” he asked suddenly.
The man paused in his rowing to squeeze his mouth together.
“Why?” he said vacantly. “I shouldn’t fancy her for a mate, that’s all. Mostly temper in a face makes a man hot to look at it, but hers turns one cold. It’s my opinion he’s hooked a fish this time that’s one too many for him. He looks as if he’d like to shake her off, and can’t, and is mortal afeard of being pulled in himself. They’re up and down the river these three days—up and down. She might, for all the love that’s lost between ’em, be in another boat, and he bursting himself trying to pull away from her. Ho-ho! It’s a queer start—and here they come, too!”
Gilead sat up. They had reached the withy-bed, and suddenly round the counter of the big dismantled houseboat shot the skiff with the man and woman in it. It would have moved faster than before in any case going down-stream; but no normal pace appeared sufficient for the rower, who sculled with a fury that seemed to make the planks of the frail craft stretch and gape. From time to time, since his companion sat without movement not steering, he would turn his head to snatch a course; and it was in one of these glances that, when close upon it, he saw the other boat.