“That will do, Michelle. Don’t wait. I shall walk.”
The canoe was off and away as she said:
“It must be four miles. Isn’t it a rather rough walk?”
“It is nearer five. How are you? How is every one? I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you.”
“How dreadfully brown you are!”
“Cuban sun, Miss Lyndsay. I am told it is becoming.”
“Indeed! Who told you?”
“A young woman on the steamer.”
“Indeed.”
Here she glanced down the river, and resumed her place on the rock.