Mrs Ravenhill thought it a pity they should risk losing the lights.
“The days are long enough,” Millie put in. “And how delightful to have this delicious place to ourselves! Let us enjoy it.”
“Let us,” said Wareham. “How do you begin?”
“Oh!” cried the girl indignantly, “there is no beginning. You must do it.”
“Ah, that is feminine impracticability. You issue a command, and we are anxious to obey, but every act has a beginning and an end.”
She broke into a smile.
“Well, then, put away the wish to be anywhere else.”
“Done,” said Wareham, after a moments consideration. “But don’t you see Mr Grey eyeing the river?”
The young fellow excused himself. He was only wondering how a particular fly which the landlord had bestowed upon him would work in the pools.
“Precisely,” said Wareham, smiling at Millie. “In our advanced civilisation, enjoyment has ceased to be spontaneous, and has become an art. It can’t be treated so unceremoniously as you suggest. Stalk it as you would a deer, and, even then, ten to one your prey escapes you.”