"Cecil," said Bertie, giving a pre-conceived idea the air of an impromptu, "come up to Coonwood with us; it's lovely scenery all the way, and I should have a companion back."
"What do you say, mamma; may I go?" dropping her eyes and speaking in an indifferent voice, to disguise her delight in the anticipation.
"May I go?" mimicked Lascelles to himself. "Bertie is always sacrificing me to some girl or other. She will swamp the boat,—it's within an inch of the water already with my portmanteau,—and very likely make me miss my train, or get wet through pulling her out." This in soliloquy, but he looked courteous and smiling.
Mrs. Rolleston hesitated; in her heart she acquiesced; but what would the Colonel say? The younger ones took silence for consent, and Cecil was reclining on a bear-skin at the bottom of the canoe, Lascelles kneeling in a cramped attitude, with the steering paddle, in the bow, and Bertie in charge of the sail, before words of prohibition could come from her.
"Dear me! I don't half like it," said she, nervously. "How stormy it looks in the west. How long will it take you?"
"We shall have the wind back," said Bertie. "About two hours and a half—three at the outside. I'll bring her home in good time for dinner,"—and Cecil kissed her hand in laughing defiance while he spread the sail to the wind, and, catching the light breeze after a flap or two, they glided gaily on their course.
"Don't move about, Cecil," said Du Meresq; "we are rather low down in the water."
No one knew better than Cecil, who had quite appreciated the small spice of risk in weighting the frail bark with an additional person; but then it was worth it to sail back alone with Bertie.
"You are getting dreadfully wet, I am afraid, Miss Rolleston," said Lascelles. "Ease the sail a bit, Bertie."
"You shouldn't keep her head to the waves," argued the other, "as if it were a boat. Keep her broadside to them, and we shan't ship half so many."