Miss Lees is less nautically attired; having but slipped over her morning dress a paletot of the ordinary kind, and on her head a plumed hat of the Neapolitan pattern. For all, a costume becoming; especially the brigand-like head gear which sets off her finely-chiselled features, and skin dark as any daughter of the South.
They are about starting towards the boat-dock, when a difficulty presents itself—not to Gwen, but the companion.
“We have forgotten Joseph!” she exclaims.
Joseph is an ancient retainer of the Wynn family, who, in its domestic affairs, plays parts of many kinds—among them the métier of boatman. It is his duty to look after the Gwendoline, see that she is snug in her dock, with oars and steering apparatus in order; go out with her when his young mistress takes a row on the river, or ferry any one of the family who has occasion to cross it—the last a need by no means rare, since for miles above and below there is nothing in the shape of bridge.
“No, we haven’t,” rejoins Joseph’s mistress, answering the exclamation of the companion. “I remembered him well enough—too well.”
“Why too well?” asks the other, looking a little puzzled.
“Because we don’t want him.”
“But surely, Gwen, you wouldn’t think of our going alone.”
“Surely I would, and do. Why not?”
“We’ve never done so before.”