"I expect," she remarked, in a sudden burst of exultation, as the canoe slid past two gorgeously arrayed young persons who were seated by the water's edge, "that those two are pretty sorry they're not in this canoe with us."
The ladies referred to arose and walked inland with some deliberation. Hughie did not answer. His brow was knitted and his manner somewhat absent.
"Hughie," announced Miss Gaymer reproachfully, "you are looking very cross at me."
She had a curiously gruff and hoarse little voice, and suffered in addition from inability to pronounce those elusive consonants r and l. So she did not say "very cross," but "ve'y c'oss," in a deep bass.
Hughie roused himself.
"Sorry, Joey!" he said; "I was thinking."
"Sec'ets?" inquired Miss Gaymer, all agog with femininity at once.
"No."
"Oh,"—rather disappointedly. "About your old boat, then?"
"Yes," said Hughie untruthfully. "Do you quite understand how we race?"