"I know women," said Mrs. Marne. "I could lobby Mary over in exactly two minutes, Mr. Varney. Besides, she is absent at roll-call, you know."
"The point is well taken," said Varney, to whom the thought was anything but a novelty.
"There she is now," said Peter over their shoulders.
Varney turned and looked ashore at the point where the gig was patiently waiting. There was no sign of anybody there.
"Upstream," added Peter, and the sudden honk of a motor-horn punctuated the observation like a full stop.
Two hundred yards above them, a narrow driveway circled down to the river to an ancient boat-house, and here the gaze of the little party turned. Where the road curved at the water's edge, there stood a great white touring-car, shining in the sun like a new pin. Upon the driver's seat sat a bare-headed young man with a brown face and light sunburned hair, brushed back. On the farther side of him, gloved hand holding to the seat back, stood a young girl in a blue linen dress and a rather conspicuously large hat, also of blue. Both of them were looking off toward the Cypriani. Now the horn tooted again in salutation; and the girl, catching their eyes, waved her hand and smiled, making a little gesture indicative of her lack of equipment to navigate the intervening stretch of water.
Mrs. Marne answered the salute in kind. Reassuring gesticulations were duly wafted ashore.
"Who's the new swain, Pinky?" demanded Mrs. Marne thoughtfully.
Pinky did not know. The sailing-master, at a word from Varney, hurled an order to the gig ashore. Then he swept his megaphone upstream, pointing it straight at the motor:
"The gig is on the way to you now, Miss."