“Well, was it worth the effort?” he enquired dreamily.
Hewet sat down on the grass by his side and began to fan himself.
Rachel had balanced herself near Helen on the end of the tree trunk.
“Very hot,” she said.
“You look exhausted anyhow,” said Hirst.
“It’s fearfully close in those trees,” Helen remarked, picking up her book and shaking it free from the dried blades of grass which had fallen between the leaves. Then they were all silent, looking at the river swirling past in front of them between the trunks of the trees until Mr. Flushing interrupted them. He broke out of the trees a hundred yards to the left, exclaiming sharply:
“Ah, so you found the way after all. But it’s late—much later than we arranged, Hewet.”
He was slightly annoyed, and in his capacity as leader of the expedition, inclined to be dictatorial. He spoke quickly, using curiously sharp, meaningless words.
“Being late wouldn’t matter normally, of course,” he said, “but when it’s a question of keeping the men up to time—”
He gathered them together and made them come down to the river-bank, where the boat was waiting to row them out to the steamer.