“All the same,” Den muttered dolefully, as we hurried down the stable path, “it’s going to be what the Americans would call ‘some’ wireless invention that can plant a grown-up mountain in the middle of an innocent river in the twinkling of an eyelash.”
“It is, indeed, old fellow,” I agreed, “but don’t let us worry about that. We’ll get in and see Myra and the General, and then have a look round for the Pictures—the paper you were looking at.”
We found Myra sitting on the verandah and wondering what on earth had kept us, and if we had changed our minds and gone straight back south with Garnesk.
“I’m most awfully sorry, darling,” I apologised. “It’s all my fault, of course. We went to Glasnabinnie, and since then I’ve been showing Dennis the river and generally forgetting my duties as deputy host.”
“What did you go to the river for?” Myra asked, suspiciously.
“Oh! just to have a look round, you know, dear. It’s a very nice river,” I replied, airily.
“Ronnie, dear, please,” she said gently, laying her hand on my arm and turning her veiled and shaded face to mine, “please don’t joke about it. I can’t bear to think of you running risks there.”
I looked at my beautiful, blind darling, and a pang shot through me.
“God knows I’m not joking about it, dearest,” I said sadly.