“Well, it would have been like his or her impudence to look; and if it had been talked about afterwards, really, Mary, my dear, I have grown to be such a hardened sinner over that sort of thing that I shouldn’t care a bit.”
“Really, Henry,” said the little lady, “anyone would think you were a boy, instead of being a middle-aged man.”
“I feel quite a boy,” he said, merrily. “At least, I should if we were not in such trouble.”
“And we are, Henry, indeed,” said the little lady, sadly. “I’m afraid I’m neglecting you terribly, my dear; but I am obliged to try and help that poor man, who is completely prostrate; and if it was not for the help Grey Stuart gives me, I’m sure I should break down. Have you any news?”
“Not a scrap, my dear. Have you?”
“None whatever. But now really, Henry, what do you think of the matter?”
“’Pon my word, my dear, I don’t know what to think.”
“Don’t say you believe they have had a boat accident, dear. I cannot bear to think it possible.”
“No, my dear, I don’t, and I cannot believe it,” he replied. “Here is the case: For there to have been a boat accident, Helen, Arthur, Hilton, and Chumbley must have taken a boat, and they must have all gone in together.”
“Or Hilton may have been trying to carry Helen away, and Chumbley and Arthur, who is as brave as a lion in such matters, may have been trying to stop them, or pursued them in a second boat.”