“Why, what have you done? Is it you who have frightened him away?” she asked.
“Not I. If it’s anybody, it’s—it’s Bayre,” said Southerley, bringing out the name with some emphasis, as he indicated his dark-faced companion.
He was prepared for the look which instantly appeared on her face as she repeated to herself the one word, “Bayre!”
And into her eyes there came a strange expression, not the horror which they had seen in the face of the old man in the boat, but a look of interest, of wonder.
Southerley, who knew how to manage a boat—on the Thames, at least—went on eagerly,—
“Will you let me take you out to him? I can hire a boat here, and I know how to manage one. Ask my friends here.”
But the girl smiled and shook her head. Even Bayre acknowledged to himself that she looked very handsome when she smiled, for her teeth were white and even, and the curve of her lips over them was pretty.
“I won’t trouble you to do that, thank you. For that matter, I can manage a boat myself. We all learn to do that when we live on the small islands here.”
All the young men noted this speech, and poor Southerley’s countenance fell again. For it did look as if this beautiful creature must be old Mr Bayre’s young wife: Southerley’s soul revolted at the thought. He persisted in pressing his services. If she would not trust herself with him, at least it would be something if he could show off his prowess before her admiring eyes.
“Then let me go after him,” said he, “and tell him that you’re waiting, tell him to come back.”