CHAPTER V.—THE PUZZLE OF RAINE CHETWYND.
Then you won't join us?” said the Junior Dean.
“I can't say definitely,” replied Raine Chetwynd, rubbing his meerschaum bowl on his coat-sleeve.
“You had better,” urged the other. “We can make our arrangements fit into yours, if you'll give us timely notice. Put aside a fortnight in July or August, and we will keep all the plums for then. You see we must have dates beforehand, on account of the guides.”
“Quite so,” Raine assented; “and it's very good of you, Rogers. But somehow I shouldn't care to tie myself down. I am not certain how long I may be likely to stay in Switzerland; and I have half promised the Professor to take him away somewhere, if he has had enough of Geneva. No; you fellows make your own arrangements without reference to me. Tell me your dates, and I'll very probably happen upon you and take my chance of what's going.”
The Junior Dean did not press the matter. Chetwynd was not a man to be governed by caprice, and doubtless had excellent reasons for not wishing to make a specific engagement. But Raine thought it necessary to apologize. He got up, and walked to the open window.
“Don't think me a disagreeable beast.”
The Junior Dean, laughed, and came and leant on the sill by his side.
“No one could be disagreeable on a day like this.”