She was silent for a few seconds. He had persuaded her that oars were preferable to sails on such a still night, especially as he was not acquainted with the shallows, but he had not explained that if he rowed and she steered he would be able to gaze his fill at her.
“What colors are those?” she demanded suddenly.
“I ought to have told you that I happened to find a member of the club to which I belong,” he countered. Then, before she could pin him down to a definite statement, he tried to carry the war into the enemy’s country.
“By the way, I hope I am not presuming on the fact that you have consented to take this little excursion, Miss Vanrenen, but may I ask how you contrive to appear each evening in a muslin frock? Those hold-alls on the motor are strictly utilitarian, and a mere man would imagine that muslin could not escape being crushed.”
“It doesn’t. I have a maid iron it for me before dinner. At Hereford I shall receive a fresh one from London, and send this back by post. But fancy you noticing such a thing! Have you any sisters?”
“Yes, one.”
“How old is she?”
“Twenty-three.”
“Dear me! A year older than me. Oh, ought I to have said ‘than I’? That always puzzles me.”