alongside the bank. She started as he spoke. His feet on the soft
turf had made no sound.
“Can I take you out on the lake?” he said.
She did not answer for a moment. She was plainly confused.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I–I’m waiting for lord Dreever.”
Jimmy saw that she was nervous. There was tension in the air. She
was looking away from him, out across the lake, and her face was
flushed.
“Won’t you?” he said.
“I’m sorry,” she said again.
Jimmy looked over his shoulder. Down the lower terrace was
approaching the long form of his lordship. He walked with pensive
jerkiness, not as one hurrying to a welcome tryst. As Jimmy looked,
he vanished behind the great clump of laurels that stood on the
lowest terrace. In another minute, he would reappear round them.
Gently, but with extreme dispatch, Jimmy placed a hand on either
side of Molly’s waist. The next moment, he had swung her off her
feet, and lowered her carefully to the cushions in the bow of the
canoe.
Then, jumping in himself with a force that made the boat rock, he
loosened the mooring-rope, seized the paddle, and pushed off.
CHAPTER XIX
ON THE LAKE
In making love, as in every other branch of life, consistency is the
quality most to be aimed at. To hedge is fatal. A man must choose
the line of action that he judges to be best suited to his
temperament, and hold to it without deviation. If Lochinvar snatches
the maiden up on his saddle-bow, he must continue in that vein. He
must not fancy that, having accomplished the feat, he can resume the
episode on lines of devotional humility. Prehistoric man, who
conducted his courtship with a club, never fell into the error of
apologizing when his bride complained of headache.
Jimmy did not apologize. The idea did not enter his mind. He was
feeling prehistoric. His heart was beating fast, and his mind was in
a whirl, but the one definite thought that came to him during the
first few seconds of the journey was that he ought to have done this
earlier. This was the right way. Pick her up and carry her off, and
leave uncles and fathers and butter-haired peers of the realm to
look after themselves. This was the way. Alone together in their own
little world of water, with nobody to interrupt and nobody to
overhear! He should have done it before. He had wasted precious,
golden time, hanging about while futile men chattered to her of
things that could not possibly be of interest. But he had done the
right thing at last. He had got her. She must listen to him now. She
could not help listening. They were the only inhabitants of this new
world.
He looked back over his shoulder at the world they had left. The
last of the Dreevers had rounded the clump of laurels, and was
standing at the edge of the water, gazing perplexedly after the
retreating canoe.
“These poets put a thing very neatly sometimes,” said Jimmy
reflectively, as he dug the paddle into the water. “The man who
said, ‘Distance lends enchantment to the view,’ for instance.
Dreever looks quite nice when you see him as far away as this, with
a good strip of water in between.”
Molly, gazing over the side of the boat into the lake, abstained
from feasting her eyes on the picturesque spectacle.
“Why did you do it?” she said, in a low voice.
Jimmy shipped the paddle, and allowed the canoe to drift. The ripple
of the water against the prow sounded clear and thin in the
stillness. The world seemed asleep. The sun blazed down, turning the
water to flame. The air was hot, with the damp electrical heat that
heralds a thunderstorm. Molly’s face looked small and cool in the
shade of her big hat. Jimmy, as he watched her, felt that he had
done well. This was, indeed, the way.
“Why did you do it?” she said again.
“I had to.”
“Take me back.”
“No.”
He took up the paddle, and placed a broader strip of water between
the two worlds; then paused once more.