They strolled down to Marlow Church, and then to that tumble-down heap of cottages immortalized by Fred. Walker, the picturesque aspect of which struck Ronald very strongly.
"I don't know much about pictures," said the Australian, frankly, "and I haven't the eye of an artist, but I do admire these mellow-tinted roofs, so different from the galvanized tin of the colonies."
Then they went across the bridge, saw the river full of boats with their light-hearted occupants, had a drink at the Anglers Hotel, and looked out over the foaming waters of the Weir, murmuring like the humming of bees, and ultimately went back to the Crown Hotel, up the long street, with the old little shops on either side.
After they had some luncheon, consisting of bread and cheese and beer, they sat in the dining-room in a kind of somnolent state, smoking steadily, until a waiter came, and said that a lady had called to see them.
"Why, what's the time?" asked Ronald, sleepily, tumbling to his feet.
"Three o'clock, sir," returned the waiter.
"The Devil!" ejaculated Ronald. "I say, old boy, here's Mrs. Verschoyle."
"Right you are," answered Foster, awake and alert at once; "I'm coming--where is the lady?"
"In the sitting-room upstairs, sir," replied the waiter.
They went upstairs to the sitting-room, and found a lady, closely veiled, waiting for them. She arose when they entered, and looked from one to the other in a doubtful way.