Jimmy followed her gaze. The dapper figure of Mr. Wesson was moving down the lawn. He had a tennis racquet in his hand. His face wore an inviting smile.
Jimmy glared at him hopelessly.
Mr. Wesson had vanished now behind the great clamp of laurels which stood on the lowest terrace. In another moment he would reappear round them.
"Bother!" said Molly again. "Jimmy!" For gently, but with extreme firmness and dispatch, Jimmy, who ought to have known better, had seized her hand on the other side of the waist, swung her off her feet, and placed her carefully on the cushions in the bow of the canoe.
Then he had jumped in himself with a force which made the boat rock, and was now paddling with the silent energy of a dangerous lunatic into the middle of the lake; while Mr. Wesson, who had by this time rounded the laurels, stood transfixed, gazing glassily after the retreating vessel.
To the casual spectator, he might have seemed stricken dumb.
But at the end of the first ten seconds any fear that the casual spectator might have entertained as to the permanence of the seizure would have been relieved.
CHAPTER XI.
"The man who lays a hand upon a woman," said Jimmy, paddling strongly, "save in the way of kindness—I'm very sorry, Molly, but you didn't seem able to make up your mind. You aren't angry, are you?"
There was a brief pause, while Molly apparently debated the matter in her mind.