“Upon my word, you do have at times the most remarkable flashes of intelligence. You are right.”
“But why? The awkwardness of the affair seems to me to lie on the lady’s side.”
“I wish it were not. She is young, and—well, rather pretty, and of course she will be effusive, and enthuse, and then there will be a few tears, and I shall feel like a fool!”
“It’s a great thing, Fred, to have no imagination. Now, it wouldn’t trouble me in the least. She will just say, ‘I am so much obliged, Mr. Carington,’ and you will say, ‘Oh, it really doesn’t matter, Miss Lyndsay.’ People don’t go splashing their emotions about like a wet dog shaking off the water on everybody. Good notion, that!”
“You are a social and consolatory Solomon. Give me your tobacco. I shall go back to-morrow and have it over. Will you fish the upper pool this afternoon?”
“Either.”
“Hang your politeness, Oliver. There is nothing gives as much trouble as ‘either.’ It ought to be kicked out of society.”
“Then the lower pool.”
“Good!”
There was a little interchange of views at the Cliff Camp as to their guests; a certain pleasantness of relief at finding Carington one who could confer an immense obligation and appear totally to ignore it. Perhaps, of all of them, Anne the best appreciated this; for she understood, as did neither her brother nor his simple and direct wife, that Rose felt and must deeply feel a sense of indebtedness, and the difficulty of at once putting herself into the right relations with the man who had, without peril to himself, left on her a debt which could never be canceled. It was easy to say about it to Rose too much or too little; but, with her usual clearness of head as to matters of conduct, Miss Lyndsay now held her tongue, nor did Rose tempt her to speak further.