Mrs. Ellison laughed, and shook her head.
"No, no. Another stranger would put them on their guard. I must manage my Private Investigation all by myself. But you need not look so disconsolate. There are some really nice people here, as you'll find out by-and-bye; and the Drexel girls are driving over from Great Marlow—they are Americans, so you will be properly appreciated: they will try their best to make you happy."
"How late shall you stay on board Vin's boat?" he asked, heedless of these smaller attractions.
"I shall be back here by ten—perhaps by half-past nine."
"Is that a promise?"
"Yes, it is—ten at latest."
"Otherwise I should go back to town in the afternoon," said he, frankly.
"What nonsense!" the young widow exclaimed (but she did not seem resentful). "Well, now, I must go along to the White Rose, and make my peace, and angle for an invitation; and then, if I get it, I must concoct my excuses for Mrs. Lawrence. Anyhow I shall be on board the Villeggiatura all the afternoon; and then I hope to have the pleasure of introducing you to Louie Drexel—that is the young lady I have designed for Vin, when he has shaken off those adventurers and come to his right mind."
Almost immediately thereafter Mrs. Ellison had secured a boatman to pull her along to the White Rose; and as she drew near, she perceived that Maisrie Bethune was alone in the stern of the house-boat, standing upright on the steering-thwart, and with both hands holding a pair of field-glasses to her eyes—an unconscious attitude that showed the graceful figure of the girl to the best advantage.
The observant visitor could also remark that her costume was simplicity itself: a blouse of white soft stuff, with wide sleeves and tight cuffs; a belt of white silk round her waist; and a skirt of blue serge. She wore no head-covering; and her neatly-braided hair caught several soft-shining hues from the sun—not a wonder and glory of hair, perhaps, (as Vin Harris would have deemed it) but very attractive all the same to the feminine eye, and somehow suggestive of girlhood, and making for sympathy. And then, when a "Good-morning!" brought round a startled face and a proud, clear look that was nothing abashed or ashamed, Mrs. Ellison's conscience smote her that she had made use of the word adventuress, and bade her wait and see.