She did not calculate on Mrs. Margaret, who was now once more uneasy about this business, and had a maternal mind to put in its way enough obstacles to make the stream of love run anything but smooth. As I have said, she was conservative. The unusual distressed her. Rose’s other love-affairs had been conducted after the conventional manner, and had caused her no great discomfort. There was too much abrupt romance in this courtship, and she feared for the effect on Rose of its singularity, believing it might unsettle her good sense and bring about a too hasty result. She did not understand her daughter; few mothers do.
It was late in the afternoon of Sunday, almost twilight, when the canoes were loaded and ready. Rose came down last and stood with the rest on the beach. Mrs. Lyndsay, her husband, Anne, and the boys had said good-by to Ellett and Carington, but the mother, on this or that excuse, kept the men busy, until at last, Ellett, seeing Carington’s impatience, called one of his own people, and with his help lifted his friend out on the porch.
The cliff hid from view the little group on the shore below.
“Confound it,” said the sick man, “they are gone! No, I hear them. I think I shall walk to the steps, Ellett.”
“You will do nothing of the kind!”
“Hang it all!”
“No. Keep still.”
At this moment, as Lyndsay was busy putting his people in the boats, and Tom was thundering advice and orders to the men, Anne said:
“Really, Archie, Rose ought to say good-by to Mr. Carington.”
“What is that?” exclaimed Margaret from her canoe, which had just been shoved off from the strand.