“How can I tell, Mr. Davies? It may rain.”
“But if it does not rain—please tell me. You generally do walk on the beach on Sunday. Miss Beatrice, I want to speak to you. I hope you will allow me, I do indeed.”
Then suddenly she came to a decision. This kind of thing was unendurable; it would be better to get it over. Turning round so suddenly that Owen started, she said:
“If you wish to speak to me, Mr. Davies, I shall be in the Amphitheatre opposite the Red Rocks, at four o’clock on Sunday afternoon, but I had much rather that you did not come. I can say no more.”
“I shall come,” he answered doggedly, and they went down the steps to the boat-shed.
“Oh, look, daddy,” said Effie, “here comes the lady who was drownded with you and a gentleman,” and to Beatrice’s great relief the child ran forward and met them.
“Ah!” thought Geoffrey to himself, “that is the man Honoria said she was engaged to. Well, I don’t think very much of her taste.”
In another minute they had arrived. Geoffrey shook hands with Beatrice, and was introduced to Owen Davies, who murmured something in reply, and promptly took his departure.
They examined the canoe together, and then walked slowly up to the Vicarage, Beatrice holding Effie by the hand. Opposite the reef they halted for a minute.
“There is the Table Rock on which we were thrown, Mr. Bingham,” said Beatrice, “and here is where they carried us ashore. The sea does not look as though it would drown any one to-night, does it? See!”—and she threw a stone into it—“the ripples run as evenly as they do on a pond.”