Ida sat in dead silence watching the declining light, one listless hand dipping in the river.
Brian was thoughtful, more thoughtful than she had known him in any period of their acquaintance.
'Where shall we go for our honeymoon? he asked abruptly, jingling some loose coins in his pocket.
'Oh, that is for you to decide. I—I know what I should like best,' faltered Ida.
'What is that?'
'I should like you to take me to Dieppe, where we could see my father, and explain everything to him.'
'Did you write to him to-day?'
'No; I thought I would tell him nothing till after our marriage. You might change your mind at the last.'
'Cautious young party,' said Brian, laughing. 'There is no fear of that. I am too far gone in love for that. For good or ill I am your faithful slave. Yes, we will go to Dieppe if you like. It is late in the year for a place of that kind; but what do we care for seasons? Do you think your father and I will be able to get on?'
'My father is the soul of good nature. He would get on with anyone who is a gentleman, and I am sure he will like you very much. My stepmother is—well, she is rather vulgar. But I hope you won't mind that. She is very warm-hearted.'