At length, and not until they had passed the Dearloves' cottage, she
asked--
"Why were you late?"
"Was I missed?"
"Of course. You younger men of Troy seem strangely blind to your
duties--and your chances."
The last three words came as if by after-thought; Sam looked up
quickly.
"Chances? You said 'chances,' I believe?"
"I did. Was there not Miss Saunders, for instance?"
Sam's lip curled.
"Miss Saunders is not a chance; she is a certainty. Did she, for
instance, announce that the beauty of the day made her sad--that even
amid the wealth of summer something inside her whispered 'Autumn'?"
"She did."
"She always does; I have never picnicked with Miss Saunders but
something inside her whispered 'Autumn'!"
"A small bore," suggested Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys, "that never misses
fire."
Sam tittered and resumed--
"If it comes to duties, your husband sets the example; he hasn't
moved from the club window to-day."
"Oh!" she exclaimed shortly, "I never asked you to imitate my
husband."
Sam ceased rowing and looked up; he was familiar with the tone, but
had never heard it so emphasised before.
"Look here," he said; "something's wrong, that's plain. It's a rude
question, but--does he neglect you?"
She laughed with some bitterness, and perhaps with a touch of
self-contempt.
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