"You are right; it is a rude question: but--he does not."
There was a moment's silence, and then she added--
"So it's useless, is it not, to wish that he would?"
The blood about Sam's heart stood still. Were the words a confession
or a sneer. Did they refer to her or to him? He would have given
worlds to know, but her tone disclosed nothing.
"You mean--?"
She gave him no answer, but turned her head to look back. In the
distant boats they had fallen to singing glees. In this they obeyed
tradition: for there is one accomplishment which all Trojans
possess--of fitting impromptu harmonies to the most difficult air.
And still in the pauses of the music Miss Limpenny would exclaim--
"Did you ever see anything more lovely?"
And the Admiral would reply--
"Really, I never did."
Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys could not, of course, hear this. But the voices
of the singers stole down the river and touched her, it may be, with
some sense of remorse for the part she was playing in this Arcadia.
"We are leaving the others a long way behind," she said irresolutely.
"Do you wish to wait for them?"
For a moment she seemed about to answer, but did not. Sam pulled a
dozen vigorous strokes, and the boat shot into the reach opposite
Kit's House.
"That," she said, resting her eyes on the weather-stained front of
Mr.
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