“Yes, if it were not Sunday,” I said timidly.
No other objection occurred to me. He looked down at me, as if hesitating about something, and then said—
“You are right. You see I respect your scruples, if I do not share them;” and he took out his watch. “It is just a quarter to twelve. By the time I have got the boat ready it will be Monday morning, and then there will be nothing against it.”
He had one foot in the boat before I could do more than say—
“But, Mr. Carruthers, it is so late. What would Lady Mills say?”
“I’ll make it all right with Lady Mills; and you are such a good little girl that nobody will think anything of what you do.”
I did not understand this speech so well then as I did later; but it gave me a sense of uneasiness, which however was but momentary, for he talked and made me laugh until he had the boat ready, and we heard the big church-clock strike out twelve.
“Now, unless that clock is fast, our consciences are free. Give me your hand. Step carefully. There you are.”
I was in the boat, smiling with pleasure, yet ready to cry out at every movement, for I had never been on the water before.
“There isn’t much wind; but I think there is enough to bring us back, so I’ll just scull down stream to the broad. Take the lines—so—and pull whichever one I tell you.”