"Not a relative, and one of the family," thought Lord Canning. "Young, old or middle aged?"
"Glen's only twenty-four and handsome as a picture."
"Only twenty-four, and handsome as a picture," thought Lord Canning.
"Wouldn't you like to smoke, Lord Canning?"
"There's something of the witch about you, Miss Stillwater. That's just what I'm longing to do. You are sure you don't mind?"
Indiana shook her head. Her cheeks were glowing, her eyes sparkling from the exercise.
"That's very good of you, Miss Stillwater." He lit his cigar leisurely, then leaned back with a long sigh of content. "You're a splendid oarswoman, Miss Stillwater; such long, graceful strokes. That splash of color here and there in the woods—it's most effective—especially, when it's reflected in the lake—like this branch—look—we are just nearing it—how gracefully it droops over the water. It's most delightful here—near the shore—let us linger a little while—do you mind? There's no occasion for this terrific speed, is there? That's better—now we are merely gliding. Lean back, Miss Stillwater! Won't you have this pillow? Are you quite comfortable? Are you sure you are quite comfortable? These Adirondack oars are very convenient—just let them swing—I see—and take them up when you are ready. A stroke or two, now and then, will be quite sufficient to send us along—not yet—don't disturb yourself. No, we will not run into anything—I'll see to that—you look very nice lying there. The water is like a perfect mirror here, under the trees—every leaf and twig is reflected—beautiful—so restful—I could drift like this—"
"I thought so," cried Indiana jumping up.
"Dear me, what is the matter?"
"We're caught in a tree!"