We must have remained there fully half an hour, for when I suddenly looked at my watch and realised that we must in any case be late for dinner, the light in the wild red heavens had died away, the soft pale rose-pink had faded, and in the stillness of twilight there seemed a wide, profound mystery. "We must be getting back," I said quickly, pulling the boat out into mid-stream with a long stroke. "Yes. The Blains will wonder wherever we've been," she laughed. "Mary will accuse you of flirting with me." "Would that be such a very grave accusation?" I asked, smiling. "Ah, that I really don't know," she answered gaily. "You would be the accused." "But neither of us are guilty, therefore we can return with absolutely clear consciences, can't we?" "Certainly," she laughed. Then, after a brief pause, she asked, "Why did you not bring Mary out in preference to me?" "Why do you ask?" I inquired in surprise. "Well--it would be only natural, as you are engaged to her." "Engaged to her?" I echoed. "I'm certainly not engaged to Mary Blain." "Aren't you?" she exclaimed. "I always understood you were." "Oh, no," I said. "We are old friends. We were boy and girl together, but that is all." Her great blue eyes opened with a rather bewildered air, and she exclaimed-- "How strange that people should make such a mistake! I had long ago heard of you as Mary's future husband." Then again we were silent, both pondering deeply. Had this remark of hers been mere guess-work? Was this carefully-concealed question but a masterstroke of woman's ingenuity to ascertain whether I loved Mary Blain? It seemed very likely to be so. But she was so frank in all that I could not believe it of her. No doubt she had heard some story of our long-past love, and it had been exaggerated into an engagement, as such stories are so often apt to be. Soon we emerged from the backwater into the main stream, and with our bow set in the direction of Laleham I rowed down with the current without loss of time. The twilight had fast deepened into dusk; the high poplars and drooping willows along the bank had grown dark, though the broad surface of the stream, eddying here and there where a fish rose, was still of a blue steely hue, and far away upstream only a long streak of grey showed upon the horizon. The stars shone down in the first faint darkness of the early night. Presently I glanced behind me, and in the distance saw a yellow ray, which my companion, well versed in river geography, told me was a light in one of the windows of Riverdene. It had grown quite chilly, and the meadows were wreathed in faint white mist, therefore I spurted forward, and soon brought the boat up to the steps. I knew that the world now held nothing for me but Eva.