"Eve, there is plenty of wind blowing up from the nor'east."
"Is there? I am afraid that will bring your ship down quick."
"Yes; but it is not that. I am afraid that lubber won't think of
looking to windward."
"Nonsense about the wind; it is a beautiful day. Come, David, it is no
use lighting against nature. Put on your hat, then, and run down to
the beach, and see the last of her; only, for my sake, don't let the
others see you, to jeer you."
"No, no."
"And mind and be back to dinner at four. I have got a nice roast fowl
for you."
"Ay ay."
A little before four o'clock a sailor brought a note from David,
written hastily in pencil. It was sent up to Eve. She read it, and
clasped her hands vehemently.
"Oh, David, she was born to be your destruction."
CHAPTER XVII.
MR. FOUNTAIN, Miss Fountain, and Mr. Talboys started to go on the
boating expedition. As they were getting into the boat, Mr. Fountain
felt a little ill, and begged to be excused. Mr. Talboys offered to
return with him. He declined: "Have your little sail. I will wait at
the inn for you."
This pantomime had, I blush to say, been arranged beforehand. Miss
Fountain, we may be sure, saw through it, but she gave no sign. A
lofty impassibility marked her demeanor, and she let them do just what
they liked with her.
The boat was launched, the foresail set, and Fountain remained on
shore in anything but a calm and happy state.
But friendships like these are not free from dross; and I must confess
that among the feelings which crossed his mind was a hope that Talboys
would pop, and be refused, as _he_ had been.
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