"It is not of the least consequence," he began hurriedly, adding, in business-like tones, "You can make it all right the next time, you know. I suppose it will not be long before you cross again?"
"I don't know," she replied. "That depends upon whether or not I find—" and then, remembering that the professor had gently cautioned her about talking over her small affairs with any one but himself, she changed the end of her sentence into "I have to. But I will bring you the money to-morrow afternoon, if you will be here," she went on. "I am so ashamed that I forgot it; and you're very kind to trust me, when I'm such a perfect stranger to you. Don't people ever cheat you?"
"Sometimes," replied the ferryman; "and I don't trust everybody. I go a good deal by people's faces."
It did not seem to Rosamond that this remark required an answer, so she sat silent, while his vigorous strokes sent the little boat swiftly across the river, when he beached it, and, giving her his hand, helped her to spring to dry ground. Then she said,—
"That's where I'm going,—that white house across the first street; and I shall only be a few minutes."
"Don't hurry," he said, as she turned away. "I've nothing more to do this evening after I take you back."
He really did forget for the moment the "other two" and the concert.
The blissful meditation which enwrapped him made the fifteen minutes of her absence seem as five. She came down the bank, blushing and smiling.
"'And, oh, she looked sweet!'" mentally ejaculated the ferryman.
"Did I keep you long?" she said, as he helped her in. "I hurried as much as I could. And if you, or the old man, will be here to-morrow at half-past four, I should like to cross again: it saves me such a long walk. And I'll be sure to bring the money."