“I should like it very much. It would cool our blood after our recent passage at arms.”
CHAPTER XX.—THE HAND OF DESTINY.
Edward Paxton, with nothing special to do, was lying on one of the cushioned seats of the Firefly, humming his favorite tune. Mechanically he felt in his pockets for a roll of bills.
“All earned,” he said softly, smiling into the deep blue sky with an expression of ineffable content. “Pretty good for a new hand,” he added, listening with pleasure to the quiet music of the waves lapping the sides of the boat.
He drew the money from his pocket and began to count it.
“I beg your pardon,” said a voice just over him.
Edward looked up quickly. It was his cousin, Clarence, flicking at his duck trousers with his everlasting rattan cane. “By Jove,” added Clarence with a somewhat startled expression on his face, “by Jupiter, but you resemble my cousin Edward! Georgiana told me, but I didn’t altogether believe her. I’ve really never seen your face well by daylight before, you know.”
Edward did not trust himself to reply.
“I came down here,” Clarence went on, “to make you an humble apology. It was awfully nasty of me, you know, that day to have spoken as I did. I hope it’s all over and forgotten now, old man. Isn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Edward, thrusting his hands in his pockets and turning his face toward the lake.