“How does the day stand with you?” asked Everard in the tone of perfect comradeship. “Have you still to dine?”
“My dining is a very simple matter; it happens at one o’clock. About nine I shall have supper.”
“Let us walk a little then. And may I smoke?”
“Why not?”
Everard lit a cigar, and, as the tide drove them back, they moved eventually to the higher ground, whence there was a fine view of the mountains, rich in evening colours.
“To-morrow you leave here?”
“Yes,” Rhoda answered. “I shall go by railway to Coniston, and walk from there towards Helvellyn, as you suggested.”
“I have something else to propose. A man I talked to in the train told me of a fine walk in this neighbourhood. From Ravenglass, just below here, there’s a little line runs up Eskdale to a terminus at the foot of Scawfell, a place called Boot. From Boot one can walk either over the top of Scawfell or by a lower track to Wastdale Head. It’s very grand, wild country, especially the last part, the going down to Wastwater, and not many miles in all. Suppose we have that walk to-morrow? From Wastdale we could drive back to Seascale in the evening, and then the next day—just as you like.”
“Are you quite sure about the distances?”
“Quite. I have the Ordnance map in my pocket. Let me show you.”