“A subjunctive courtship, truly,” she said, smiling, as she took off her hat and threw back her hair from her white forehead to catch the fresh breeze. “Well, you have, indeed, committed yourself. You have attached too much importance to the matter, by deferring it, to give it some trivial conclusion, such as, ‘were I to raise the piano would you play?’ or, if I call this evening, will you ride with me? You have promised, and her heart is beating high with expectation.”
“It will beat a long time before it is satisfied, then,” I said, somewhat morosely.
“Suppose you write her a note, and candidly inform her that your feelings have undergone a change,” she suggested archly.
“That would wound her feelings,” I said, “and I cannot do that.”
“But are you sure the lady loves you? That is a matter of some importance.”
“I have every reason to believe it.”
“I see nothing that you can do but wait the issue of events. Wouldn’t it be funny if you had to marry her, or be sued for a breach of promise?”
“Pardon me for not seeing the fun in either case,” I replied, shuddering at the bare idea of marrying her; “but see, here comes another boat!”
The large boat at the lake house had been manned, and was rapidly catching up with us, under the pressure of sails, and oars to which a couple of stout Irishmen were bending. As they drew nearer we saw that the occupants were Mr. Marshman and party. Miss Finnock was sitting in the prow of the boat, armed with an opera glass, which she now lowered from the hills to our boat. I fancied her eyes grew wider apart as she saw who my companion was. Their boat came swiftly on, foaming at her prow, and bearing down upon us like a pirate on a prize.