“My dear, you are sure to marry,” said Aunt Eliza, mildly.
“Nothing is sure, Miss Webster,” laughed May, but she blushed so charmingly at the same time that Ralph Webster felt a new strange sensation that he did not quite understand.
“The day is lovely,” he said, starting up from the breakfast table and going to the window. “Suppose we all go down the river?”
The expedition was soon settled after this. The river was all new to May, and its reedy, willowy shores, its shining waters, and placid flow seemed delightful to her as she sat side by side with Aunt Eliza, or dipped her little hands into the cool stream.
Ralph Webster was a good oarsman, and presently he insisted that May should try to learn to row, and began instructing her. The girl was an apt pupil, and her strong young frame was quite capable of the fatigue. She enjoyed it, and when Aunt Eliza produced her luncheon basket, and they rowed in to have lunch, May declared she had never been so hungry before. Altogether they had a very pleasant day, and returned to Pembridge Terrace for dinner, where Aunt Margaret awaited them with a substantial and well-cooked repast.
“The day is not done,” said Ralph Webster, when dinner was over; “let us go to one of the theaters.”
His aunts looked at him in mild surprise.
“My dear,” they said, almost together, with a slight variation of words, “Miss Churchill will be tired.”
But May declared she was not tired, and her blooming face betokened the truth of her words. So to one of the theaters they went, though Aunt Eliza was tired if May was not. And the next day they went somewhere else, and Ralph Webster suddenly ceased to talk about going on his holiday. But on the third day of May’s stay in Pembridge Terrace Miss Webster received a letter which caused her to look a little grave.