“Let’s see. There’s the General, he’s too old and don’t count. Then there’s yourself and the parson; and they want a third donkey—I mean beast of burden. Two won’t be enough to sling all the panniers they’ll want along. I’m afraid, Phil, you mustn’t count upon me, unless you can manage to supply the missing steed first.”
“Bosh, Fordham! You won’t be wanted to carry anything.”
“Not, eh? Let’s see again. Four females—that means eight wraps, putting it at the lowest computation. Add to that the delicate creatures’ rations—for you can’t get anything eatable or drinkable at Novèl—and sunshades, which they must have for crossing the lake, don’t you know, and which they’ll discard directly they begin to walk. And there’s all the amateur-commissionaire business into the bargain. No, no, Phil. Having given the matter my most careful consideration, I regret to say that I am unable to undertake it—as the publisher said when he ‘chucked’ the budding author’s MS.”
“You old savage! If you weren’t shaving I’d ‘chuck’ all the boots and bolsters in the room at your head.”
“Well, I’ve done now, so you can begin. But, I say, Phil,” he went on, tranquilly, “how long have we been here?”
Philip Orlebar’s handsome head was well through the open window at that moment. His friend therefore found it necessary to repeat the question.
“Eh—what? How long? Oh, about ten days, haven’t we?”
“I believe we have,” rejoined the other in the same silky tone. “And, my dear boy, doesn’t it strike you that you are getting on ra-ather rapidly?”
“No. Why?”
“Nothing. Only that even the charm of my improving conversation does not avail to keep your head within that window, when some inexplicable instinct—for you couldn’t possibly have seen her—warns you that your divinity is on the terrace below. And yet, in a few minutes more you will be seated by her side for at least an hour—such being unfortunately the length of table d’hôte, and after that may safely be counted upon to pass the residue of the evening not a hundred yards apart from her by any means.”