“I should like to have a shot at it,” put in Sep, who had just despatched a large piece of cake.
“Heaven forbid!” exclaimed his father, only half in jest.
“Better sit all day under the lee of a boat and make nets, like Sea Andrew,” advised Loo, with a laugh.
“Do you think so?” said Miriam, without looking up.
“All the same, I’d like to have a shot at it,” persisted Sep. “Pass the cake, please.”
Loo had risen and was looking at the clock. His face was drawn and tired and his eyes grave.
“You will come in and see us as often as you can while you are here?” said the kindly rector, as if vaguely conscious of a change in this visitor. “You will always find a welcome whether you come in a coach-and-four or on foot—you know that.”
“Thank you—yes. I know that.”
The rector peered at him through his spectacles. “I hope,” he said, “that you will soon be successful in getting your own. You are worried about it, I fear. The responsibilities of wealth, perhaps. And yet many rich people are able to do good in the world, and must therefore be happy.”
“I do not suppose I shall ever be rich,” said Loo, with a careless laugh.