"Really, Vin, this is too much! You, a young man entertaining those two—and no lady chaperon—"
He turned and looked at her, with straight eyes.
"Oh, it's quite right," she said, hastily. "It's quite right, of course—but—but so much en évidence—so prominent—people might talk—"
"I never try to hinder people from talking," said he, with a certain scorn. "And if they busy themselves with my small affairs, they are welcome to ring their discoveries from the tops of the steeples. I did not ask anybody's permission when I invited two friends of mine, who had never been to Henley before, to be my guests during the regatta-week."
"Of course not, of course not," she said, gently; "but you are doing it in such a marked way—"
"Come, come, aunt," said he, "it isn't like you to niggle about nothing. You are not a prude; you have too much goodnature—and too much common sense. And I don't want you to go on board the White Rose with any kind of prejudice in your mind."
They could not get away just then, however, for the course was being cleared for the next race; so they lingered there until they saw, far away on the open river, two small objects like water-insects, with slender quick-moving legs, coming rapidly along. The dull murmur of the crowd became a roar as the boats drew nearer. Then the needle-like craft shot by, almost neck and neck; and loud were the shouts that cheered this one or that; while straining eyes followed them along to the goal. The sudden wave of enthusiasm almost immediately subsided; the surface of the river was again being crowded by the boats that had been confined behind the white poles; and now Vincent got his fair companion down into the gig and, with some little difficulty and delay, rowed her along to the White Rose.
He was very anxious as he conducted her on board; but he affected a splendid carelessness.
"Mr. Bethune," said he, "let me introduce you to my aunt, Mrs. Ellison—Miss Bethune, Mrs. Ellison: now come away inside, and we'll get some tea or strawberries or something—racing isn't everything at Henley—
"It isn't anything at all, as far as I have seen," said Mrs. Ellison, goodhumouredly, as she followed her nephew into the saloon. "Well, this is very pretty—very pretty indeed—one of the simplest and prettiest—so cool-looking. I hear this is your first visit to Henley," she continued addressing the old man, when they had taken their seats: Vincent meanwhile, bustling about to get wine and biscuits and fruit, for the steward had gone ashore.