"A friend of yours told me you were straight. And you are. I thought perhaps she flattered you."
"Who?—No, I'm not to ask questions."
"Lady St. Craye."
"Do you know," he said, slowly pulling downstream, "there's one thing I didn't tell you. I came away from Paris because I wasn't quite sure that I wasn't in love with her."
"Not you," said Miss Desmond. "She'd never have suited you. And now she'll throw herself away on the man with the green eyes and the past. I mean Pasts. And it's a pity. She's a woman after my own heart."
"She's extraordinarily charming," said Temple with a very small sigh.
"Yes extraordinarily, as you say. And so you came away from Paris! I begin to think you have a little of the wisdom of the dove too. Pull now—or we shall be late for breakfast."
He pulled.
"Now that," said the Reverend Cecil that evening to his sister-in-law, "that is the kind of youth I should wish to see my Lizzie select for her help-mate."