She laughed out loud. "Would Harry go rowing in a patched jersey? Would you, Travice?"
He laughed too. "I don't think I should much mind it."
"Ah, but you are Travice Arkell," she said, her seriousness returning. "A rich man may go about without shoes if he likes; but a poor one must not be seen even in mended ones."
"True: it's the way of the world, Lucy. Well, I should mend that jersey with a new one. Why, you'll be a whole day over it."
"I dare say I shall be two. Travice, there's Mr. St. John looking round for you. He was beckoning. Did you not see him.
"No, I only saw you," answered Travice, in a tone that was rather a significant one. "I see now; he wants me. Good-bye, Lucy."
He took her hand in his. There was little necessity for it, seeing that he came in two or three times a day. And he kept it longer than he need have done.