“I wish I knew—” he hesitated. “Are we good friends?”
“I can speak for myself.”
“Why are you interested in this business?”
“Because—well, I will tell you the truth. Of course I know that father and Mr. Weeks are—I suppose you would call it fighting. Father doesn't understand how I could ask you down to-day.”
“I am glad you did.”
“I wanted you to feel that—you see we have been good friends, and it would be too bad to let a thing like this—don't you understand?”
Harvey leaned forward and impulsively extended his hand. She drew back.
“Just shake hands,” said Harvey. He clasped hers firmly, releasing it with a quiet “Thank you.”
They were drifting down stream under the trees with no sound save a faint rustle from overhead. Strands of moonlight sifted through the foliage, blurring the east bank into shadow.
“Do you know what I am thinking of?” Harvey asked in a low tone. She smiled faintly and shook her head. They swung into a patch of moonlight, and for a moment their eyes met; then she looked away and said,—