Every instinct of his manhood was to take her in his arms and comfort her, but he knew that such happiness was not for him—could never be for him.
After a moment he went back to the deserted lunch. His face was white, but he made a desperate effort to speak cheerily.
"And this is the day we were going to enjoy so much! You will never come out with me any more now I have been such a brute. Mrs. Lawless, won't you have some of this jam sandwich before the wasps consume it all?"
Marie dried her tears, and laughed and cried again.
"I'm so sorry; I don't know why I was such a baby. No; don't look at me; I'm so ashamed."
She leaned over the side of the punt and bathed her eyes in the cool water, drying them on Feathers' silk handkerchief, which he put within her reach.
He went on calmly serving out the lunch and talking about anything that came into his head.
"Last time I was here, it came on to pour cats and dogs just as we'd started lunch! There was lobster mayonnaise, I remember, and a fine mess it was in. We're luckier to-day. There isn't a cloud. Do you like cream? Yes, I remember you said you did when we lunched at Mrs. Costin's inn."
He gave Marie plenty of time to recover herself. A great sigh of relief escaped him when at last she looked up and smiled.