Rosalind strolled away from the group as Mr. Davidson prepared to make his departure for Clayton. She wondered if the boatman would have the hardihood to show himself again in his stolen raiment.
Slow but persistent footfalls behind her warned her that she was being followed. Finally she turned and beheld Mr. Morton.
She answered with a nod that was not meant to encourage.
Rosalind once more sought the cool softness of the grass underfoot, with the tall and evidently preoccupied Englishman at her elbow.
"Oh, I say, Miss Chalmers," he exclaimed abruptly after they had walked in silence for several minutes.
"Would you—er—do you think you could—er—marry me?"
Rosalind eyed him with frank astonishment. A smile trembled on her lips, but she did not allow it to blossom.
"I—er—love you tremendously, you know, Miss Chalmers."
"Oh, as sure as you live. Do you think you could, you know?"
"I’m afraid I neither would nor could, Mr. Morton," she said placidly.
"Hum! Ha! By Jove, but that’s beastly hard luck, Miss Chalmers!"
Rosalind hovered between offense and amusement. She did not know whether the eighteenth or the nineteenth offer was a compliment or otherwise. She compromised by admitting to herself that she was bored.
"Rotten luck," he repeated musingly, stroking his yellow mustache.
"You speak as if it were a game of chance."
"I—er— Oh, I beg your pardon. No offense whatever intended—really. Only you see these things go awfully hard with a fellow, Miss Chalmers."
"Ah, but you know I’m an impetuous chap. That’s the worst of it."
Rosalind laughed in spite of her efforts to check the outburst. He did not appear to notice it, so wholly was he engrossed with his own misfortune—and his mustache.
"Thanks awfully, you know. It’s downright good of you to take it in such a sporting way."
"I’m—I’m trying to bear it," she said, choking.
With a deep bow Mr. Morton excused himself and stalked silently away. Rosalind looked after him, shaking with mirth.
"That makes the score two to-night," remarked a voice from behind her.
She turned quickly. The boatman had appeared as if by magic.
"Couldn’t help it the first time," he explained. "Had to hide from Reggy. Do you always turn him down that way?"
"As for the second case," added Sam, jerking his finger in the direction of the departing Englishman, "I’ll admit I followed you. But it wasn’t for the purpose of overhearing a man get his death-sentence. I wanted to see you about something."