“I dare say they might, ma’am.  I’m afraid I am given to obstinacy; always was.  Be quick, Carteret.”

Mr. Carteret was hastily stripping himself of his coat, and any odds and ends of attire he deemed superfluous.  “One moment, Hartledon; only one moment,” came the joyous response.

“And you’ll come home with your arm and your ankle like your colours, Hartledon—­crimson and purple,” screamed the dowager.  “And you’ll be laid up, and go on perhaps to locked jaw; and then you’ll expect me to nurse you!”

“I shall expect nothing of the sort, ma’am, I pledge you my word; I’ll nurse myself.  All ready, Carteret?”

“All ready.  Same point as before, Hart?”

“Same point:  round the boat and home again.”

“And it’s ten sovs. to five, Hart?”

“All right.  You’ll lose, Carteret.”

Carteret laughed.  He saw the five sovereigns as surely in his possession as he saw the sculls in his hands.  There was no trouble with the start this time, and they were off at once.

Lord Hartledon took the lead.  He was spurring his strength to the uttermost:  perhaps out of bravado; that he might show them nothing was the matter with his arm.  But Mr. Carteret gained on him; and as they turned the point and went out of sight, the young man’s boat was the foremost.

The race had been kept—­as the sporting men amongst them styled it—­dark.  Not an inkling of it had been suffered to get abroad, or, as Lord Hartledon had observed, they should have the banks swarming.  The consequence was, that not more than half-a-dozen curious idlers had assembled:  those were on the opposite side, and had now gone down with the boats to Calne.  No spectators, either on the river or the shore, attended this lesser contest:  Lord Hartledon and Mr. Carteret had it all to themselves.

And meanwhile, during the time Lord Hartledon had remained at rest in his skiff under the winning flag, Percival Elster never addressed one word to him.  There he stood, on the edge of the bank; but not a syllable spoke he, good, bad, or indifferent.

Miss Ashton was looking for her brother, and might just as well have looked for a needle in a bottle of hay.  Arthur was off somewhere.

“You need not go home yet, Anne,” said Val.

“I must.  I have to dress for dinner.  It is all to be very smart to-night, you know,” she said, with a merry laugh.

“With Shute in the post of honour.  Who’d have thought that awkward, quiet fellow would win?  I will see you home, Anne, if you must go.”

Miss Ashton coloured vividly with embarrassment.  In the present state of affairs, she did not know whether that might be permitted:  poor Val was out of favour at the Rectory.  He detected the feeling, and it tended to vex him more and more.

“Nonsense, Anne!  The veto has not yet been interposed, and they can’t kill you for allowing my escort.  Stay here if you like:  if you go, I shall see you home.”