Beatrice gasped. “Oh!” she cried. But she must not delay. “My father did it,” she hurried on, “because he wants to ruin you and drive you out of the country.”
Roger laughed quietly. “Don’t worry, Rix. I’m all right.”
“I’ve got so much to say. I must see you again——”
“No. This is good-by. I read about your engagement, and I was glad you had made up your mind to do the sensible thing. I hope you’ll be happy—and you will be. I’ll send you the picture as a wedding present.”
“Chang—don’t believe that,” cried she imploringly. “I must see you. As soon as I can I’ll let you know. I’m watched. But I’ll give them the slip and——”
“You’ll do nothing stealthy—not with my help,” answered he. “I’ll not come again——”
The clash of oar in lock struck both silent. A rowboat glided from the shadows, thrust its nose far up the muddy shore. Beatrice immediately recognized her father the only occupant. He stood up, looking round. He said in a voice of suspiciously pleasant intonation, “I see Wade hasn’t come yet. Well, I’ll wait and take you back. The walking’s bad—especially in that kind of dress.”
Each could see the other’s face plainly in that bright moonlight. She showed no more sign of agitation than he, and he was suave. Beatrice spoke. “Yes, I’ve ruined my dress. And the slippers—they’re pulp.” She glanced round. “What time is it?”
“Half past one,” he announced, as the result of a look at his watch.
“It’s later than I thought. I’m ready to go home now.”