"Never fear, my boy," he said when the story was told. "It is hard, but the truth must come out at last—it always does in this world of ours. But now," he continued, "about your friends—I hope they are to be my guests to-day."
"Warren will be here, sir," answered Ralph. And Mr. St. Clive asked, "And not Charlton?"
"No, sir, he could not promise." Ralph did not go into the matter of his quarrel with his chum then; he wanted to talk to Mr. St. Clive alone about that; and the gentleman, seeing that something must have gone amiss, did not press his questions further.
Then Ralph went off with Irene, and had to tell her everything over again, while she sat and listened with sparkling eyes, especially when he told her how Mr. Delermain had behaved.
"I would like to kiss him," she said. "He is a nice man." And Ralph suggested that, as she could not do that, the next best thing would be to kiss him instead—a thing which proves very conclusively that Ralph was very quickly getting used to the ways of Western civilization.
And then, with a merry call, Tom Warren came upon the scene, for he had arrived, had been welcomed by his host, and sent out into the garden to meet his friend. Irene was introduced—she had known him before, by the way, but that doesn't matter—and Warren was nice, and didn't think girls a bit of a nuisance—which shows that he was a wise boy—and the three just got on as well as could be, until the bell rang for lunch, and—
Well, well, they did enjoy that lunch, that is all; and they demonstrated very clearly what exceedingly healthy appetites they all possessed; and then, that over, they set out for a stroll along the river's bank—for it was very pretty there, and Irene loved the spot. The trees were so stately, and, in some places, grew right to the water's edge, and the grass was so green and velvety, and the river ran so smoothly—perhaps too smoothly—for the current was strong and swift, and glided along, making the water look like a stream of glass as it turned the curve towards Becket Weir, and went roaring and foaming down twelve feet like a little Niagara.
But to-day, when they reached the spot they were somewhat disappointed to find that they were not the only occupants. A party of boys were there—boys from the college—and, of all boys in the world, Elgert, Dobson, and some of their chums who had been to Mr. St. Clive's.
Some of the boys were fishing, for there were excellent perch and roach in the still pools; and Horace Elgert had his canoe, a pretty little boat—light, easy, and graceful, so long as it was kept away from the immediate neighbourhood of the weir.
"Oh," growled Warren, as he saw the others. "How jolly annoying!" And at that Irene burst out laughing, and inquired how anything could possibly be "jolly annoying."