When Captain Ross went away next morning, Miss Carthew at his earnest invitation accompanied the boys to see him off, and, as they walked out of the station, Merivale nudged Michael to whisper:
“I say, I believe my uncle’s rather gone on Miss Carthew.”
“Rot,” said Michael. “Why, she’d be most frightfully annoyed. Besides, chaps’ uncles don’t get gone on——” Michael was going to add ‘chaps’ sisters’ governesses,’ but somehow he felt the remark was all wrong, and blushed the conclusion of the sentence.
The weather grew very hot, and Miss Carthew took to sitting in a canvas chair and reading books on the beach, so that Michael and Merivale were left free to do very much as they wanted which, as Michael pointed out, was rather decent of her.
“I say, Merivale,” Michael began one day, as he and his friend, arm in arm, were examining the credentials of the front on a shimmering morning, “I say, did you notice that Miss Carthew called you Alan?”
“I know. She often does,” replied Merivale.
“I say, Merivale,” said Michael shyly, “supposing I call you Alan and you call me Michael—only during the hols, of course,” he added hastily.
“I don’t mind,” Alan agreed.
“Because I suppose there couldn’t be two chaps more friends than you and me,” speculated Michael.
“I like you more than I do any other chap,” said Alan simply.