“And my taste is for going forward,” muttered he, while at the same time he sent the boat’s head suddenly round, and pulled vigorously towards the shore.
“May I trust that what has passed between us is a secret, and not to be divulged to another—not even to your sister?”
“If you desire—if you exact.”
“I do, most decidedly. It is shame enough to be rejected. I don’t see why my disgrace is to be paraded either for pity or ridicule.”
“Oh, Mr. Calvert—”
“Or triumphed over,” said he sternly, as he sent the boat up to the side of the little jetty, where Miss Grainger and her niece awaited them.
“Poor Loyd has just got bad news from home,” said Miss Grainger, “and he has hastened back to ask, by telegraph, if they wish him to return.”
“Anyone ill, or dying?” asked Calvert carelessly.
“No, it’s some question of law about his father’s vicarage. There would seem to be a doubt as to his presentation—whether the appointment lay with the patron of the bishop.”
Calvert turned to mark how the girls received these tidings, but they had walked on, and with heads bent down, and close together, were deep in conversation.