“And David Lindsay has to walk! He will never be able to cross in safety! And it is I who have kept him loitering here! Oh, I am so sorry! But you must not walk, indeed, David Lindsay! Get in here and sit beside me, if you please. Yes, but I insist upon it now!” she added, seeing that he did not comply with her request.
“You had better do so, Lindsay,” coldly added Colonel de Crespigney, as he left his own seat and sat down beside Gloria, leaving the front cushion free for the young man.
“I thank you very much, Miss de la Vera, and you also, sir; but I can easily walk the way before the road will be covered,” replied young Lindsay, as he bowed and retreated from the carriage.
“‘A willful man must have his way,’” said the colonel.
“Oh, Marcel, you did not invite him half cordially enough!” cried Gloria. “And suppose he was to be overtaken by the tide and swept away!”
“No danger. Look there,” said the colonel, pointing to the road before the carriage, down which David Lindsay, with his fishing tackle in his hand, was striding at a good rate.
The horses were now started and driven off at a speed. They passed the young man, who raised his hat as they whirled out of sight.
“Marcel, I will never forgive you if David Lindsay is drowned!” exclaimed Gloria.
“No danger, Miss!” volunteered old Laban from the box. “There is a plenty o’ time, an’ he’s a famous hand at walking.”
“Foot at walking, you mean, old man, don’t you?” inquired Colonel de Crespigney.