"Now, you're cross with me, Geoffrey! Don't be cross! I think I really am tired. I seem to have danced for hours." The tone was childishly plaintive, and French was instantly appeased. The joy of being with her—alone—returned upon him in a flood.
"Well, then, rest a little. Why should you go back just yet? Isn't it jolly out here?"
"Lovely," she said absently—"but I promised Peter."
"That'll be all right. We'll just go across and back."
There was a short silence—long enough to hear the music from the house, and the distant voices of the dancers. A little northwest wind was creeping over the lake, and stirring the scents of the grasses and sedge-plants on its banks. Helena looked round to see in what direction they were going.
"Ah!—you see that black patch, Geoffrey?"
"Yes—it was near there I saw my ghost—or village woman—or lady's maid—whatever you like to call it."
"It was a lady's maid, I think," said Helena decidedly. "They have a way of getting lost. Do you mind going there?"—she pointed—"I want to explore it."
He pulled a stroke which sent the boat towards the yews; while she repeated Buntingford's story of the seat.
"Perhaps we shall find her there," said Geoffrey with a laugh.