Una laughed.
“I am not afraid of rain,” she said.
“That’s fortunate, Miss Rolfe,” said Dalrymple, who was pulling stroke, and exerting himself nobly, while Hetley, pulling behind him, allowed him to do all the work. “That’s fortunate, as we shall be sure to have a shower or two—always do at a water picnic.”
“No prophesying, marquis!” cried Lady Bell. “There isn’t a cloud in the sky; there isn’t a sign of wet.”
“I’m sorry for that,” he said, with mock gravity, “for I’m fearfully thirsty.”
They paid no attention to this broad hint, however, until they were going through Teddington Lock, when Lady Bell produced some champagne and soda water, and Hetley made a cooling cup.
When it came to Una’s turn—they all drank out of the same cup, a splendid silver tankard, chased with the Earlsley arms—she glanced at it askance and shook her head.
“But you must, my dear Una,” said Lady Bell. “You will be parched.”
“Let me have some water,” said Una, and making a cup of her hand—a trick she had learned at a very early age—she bent over the boat and as quietly and naturally drank a draught.
The countess looked at her earnestly, and Sir Arkroyd muttered to Dalrymple: