“You do not think they will come here, do you?” he asked, turning to his companion. It seemed almost as natural as formerly that they should agree in not wishing to be interrupted by Grace, nor by any one else.
“Oh no!” Constance answered. “They will not come here. The buoy is anchored opposite the landing, much farther down, and John could not moor her to the shore. It is odd, though, that he should be running so free. He is losing way by coming towards us.”
“I am sure they have seen us and mean to land here,” said George in a tone that betrayed his annoyance.
Both watched the little boat in silence for some minutes.
“You are right,” Constance said at last. “They are coming here. It is of no use to run away,” she added, quite naturally. “They must have seen my white frock long ago. Yes, here they are.”
By this time the boat was less than twenty yards from the shore and within speaking distance. She was a small, light craft, half-decked, and rigged as a cutter. John Bond was steering and the three ladies were seated in the middle. John let her head come to the wind and sang out—
“Wood! I say!”
“Hullo!” George answered, springing to his feet and advancing to the edge of the land.
“Can you take the ladies ashore in your boat?”
“All right!” George sprang into the light wherry, taking the painter with him, and pulled alongside of the party. In a moment the three ladies were over the side and crowded together in the stern.