"Ef you plaise, sir, I wants to gie warnin'."

"Give warning?"

"Iss, sir; notiss to go." And Caleb stared fiercely at his master.

"But, my dear Caleb, you surely don't mean--?"

"I do, tho'."

"Are you dissatisfied with the place or the wages?"

"That's et, sir--the wages."

"If they are too low--"

"They bain't; they be a darned sight too high."

Mr. Fogo leant back in his chair.

"Too high!" he gasped.

"Look 'ee here, sir: here be I, so lazy as La'rence, an' eatin' my head off 'pon a pund a week an' my small-clothes, on condishun I looks arter 'ee. Very well; what happens? 'Tes Dearlove, Dearlove, Dearlove all the time. Fust Tamsin brings 'ee back, and then Paul, an' nex' time I reckon 'twill be Peter's turn. Where-_fore_, sir, seein' I can't offer to share wages wi' the Twins, much less wi'

Tamsin, I wants to go."

Caleb knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and, rising, stared at his master for some seconds and with much determination.

Mr. Fogo argued the case for some time without effect. But so sincerely did he paint his helplessness, and nervous aversion to new faces, that at length, after many pros and cons, Caleb consented to give him one more chance. "But mind, sir," he added, "the nex' time you'm brought home by a Dearlove, 'go' 's the word." On this understanding they retired to rest, but it was long before Mr. Fogo could shut his memory upon the panorama of the day's experiences.

Let us return to the picnickers. After what had pa.s.sed between Mrs.

Goodwyn-Sandys and Mr. Moggridge on the river's bank, it may seem strange that the lady should have chosen Sam Buzza to row her home, for the two youths were now declared rivals for her goodwill.

But I think we may credit her with a purpose.

At any rate, when the lengthening shadows and retreating tide hinted return, Sam, who had arrived late in a designedly small dingey, asked Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys to accompany him, and she, with little demur, complied. It did not matter greatly, as propriety would be saved by their nearness to the larger boats; and so the party started together.

But this arrangement, though excellent, did not last long; for, curiously enough, the dingey soon began to take a formidable lead of the next boat, in which the traitorous Moggridge was pulling stroke, and gazing, with what courage he could summon, into Sophia's eyes.

Indeed, so quickly was the lead increased, that at the end of two miles the larger boats had shrunk to mere spots in the distance.

The declining sun shone in Sam's eyes as he rowed, and his companion, with her sunshade so disposed as to throw her face into shadow, observed him in calm silence. The sunshade was of scarlet silk, and in the softened light stealing through it her cheek gained all the freshness of maidenhood. Her white gown, gathered about the waist with a band of scarlet, not only fitted her figure to perfection, but threw up the colour of her skin into glowing relief. To Sam she appeared a miracle of coolness and warmth; and as yet no word was spoken.

At length, and not until they had pa.s.sed 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 t.i.ttered 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.

"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?"