She followed his gaze, which was directed towards a seat across the lawn, whereon were her companion of the day before, one of the “children,” and Max Bray leaning in an attitude over the back.
“Shall we be moving?” said Charley abstractedly.
“O yes, please do!” said Laura. “I’m dying for want of an ice, or a cup of tea. I’ve been pestered for the last half-hour by that horrible fat boy!”
“Fat boy!” said Charley wonderingly.
“Yes; you know whom I mean—Hugh Lingon. So glad to have you come and set me free!”
Charley Vining did not say anything; but he led his companion towards the refreshment-tent, carefully avoiding the open lawn, and taking her, nowise unwilling, round by the shady walks where there were but few people, her steps growing slower, and her hand more heavy in its pressure. And still Charley Vining was quiet and thoughtful; but he led his companion to the refreshment-tent, handed the demanded ice, and then sauntered with her towards the lawn, still gay with fashionably-dressed groups.
“Had we not better get in the shade?” said Laura languidly. “The afternoon sun is quite oppressive.”
“Let’s cross over to Max,” said Charley. “That seems a pleasant shady seat.”
Laura did not speak, but she looked sidewise in his preoccupied countenance, and, evidently piqued at what she considered his indifference, allowed herself to be led across the lawn.
“By the way, Miss Bray,” said Charley suddenly, “you never introduced me to your lady friend.”