“I was very much afraid that I should not see you to-day,” he said, as they glided softly by Chelsea Embankment.
“But I promised to come if it was fine.”
“Yes. I feared something might prevent you. You are very kind to give me your company.” He was looking at the tips of her little boots. “I can’t say how I thank you.”
Much embarrassed, Monica could only gaze at one of the sculls, as it rose and fell, the water dripping from it in bright beads.
“Last year,” he pursued, “I went on the river two or three times, but alone. This year I haven’t been in a boat till to-day.”
“You prefer driving?”
“Oh, it’s only chance. I do drive a good deal, however. I wish it were possible to take you through the splendid country I saw a day or two ago—down in Surrey. Perhaps some day you will let me. I live rather a lonely life, as you see. I have a housekeeper; no relative lives with me. My only relative in London is a sister-in-law, and we very seldom meet.”
“But don’t you employ yourself in any way?”
“I’m very idle. But that’s partly because I have worked very hard and hopelessly all my life—till a year and a half ago. I began to earn my own living when I was fourteen, and now I am forty-four—to-day.”
“This is your birthday?” said Monica, with an odd look the other could not understand.