"No, it wasn't good for him. Father says it soured him. His name was Swithin."
"What a corking name!"
"Do you know," said Fleur, "that we're getting farther off, not nearer? This river flows."
"Splendid!" cried Mont, dipping his sculls vaguely; "it's good to meet a girl who's got wit."
"But better to meet a young man who's got it in the plural."
Young Mont raised a hand to tear his hair.
"Look out!" cried Fleur. "Your scull!"
"All right! It's thick enough to bear a scratch."
"Do you mind sculling?" said Fleur severely, "I want to get in."
"Ah! but when you get in, you see, I shan't see you any more to-day. Fini, as the French girl said when she jumped on her bed after saying her prayers. Don't you bless the day that gave you a French mother, and a name like yours?"