“Across the river?”

“I’ve a punt moored not far from here.”

“But I’ve got to get back to a meal.”

“We can get something to eat there.”

“I don’t think I will.”

“Is it too far?”

“I can walk any distance.”

“Someone was asking about you the other day.”

“Who?”

“Archie Windebank.  He wrote from India.”

“What did he say?” asked Mavis, striving to conceal the interest she felt.

“I forget, for the moment, what it was.  If I remember, I’ll tell you.”

“Don’t forget.”

“He’s rather keen on you, isn’t he?”

“How should I know?”

“He’s a fool if he isn’t.”

“What makes you think he is?”

“I’d only an idea.  Are you coming to Broughton?”

“I’ll compromise.  I’ll come as far as your punt.”

“Spoken like a good little Mavis.”

They followed the course of the river.  The stream’s windings were so vigorous that, when they had walked for some way, they had made small progress in the direction in which Perigal was going.

Mavis was strangely happy.  With the exception of her brief acquaintance with Windebank, she had never before enjoyed the society of a man, who was a gentleman, on equal terms.  And Windebank was coming home unharmed from the operations in which he had won distinction; she had read of his brave doings from time to time in the papers:  she rejoiced to learn that he had not forgotten her.

“Thinking of Windebank?” asked Perigal, noticing her silence.

“Yes.”

“Lucky chap!  But he’s an awfully good sort, straight-forward and all that.”

Mavis again assented.

“A bit obvious, though.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Eh!  Oh, well, you always know what his opinions are going to be on any given subject.”

“I think he’s delightful.”

“So do I,” assented Perigal, to add, as a qualifying afterthought, “A bit tiring to live with.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t speak from experience,” retorted Mavis, who disliked Perigal to criticise her friend.

They had now reached the spot where the punt was moored.  It was a frail craft; the bows seemed disposed to let in water.

“Is it goodbye?” asked Perigal.

“Of course,” replied Mavis irresolutely.

“Then it isn’t good-bye,” smiled Perigal.

“Why?”

“Because you’re going to do what I wish.”

Mavis was sure that she was going to do nothing of the kind, but as Perigal looked at her and smiled she became conscious of a weakening in her resolution:  it was as if he had fascinated her; as if, for his present purpose, she were helpless in his hands.  Consequently, she said: 

“To disappoint you, I’ll come as far as the other side of the river.”

“What did I tell you?  But it’s only fair to let you know the river runs a bit just here, and it’s too deep to pole, so you have to hit the opposite bank when you can.”