A moment ago I had felt hardly less than sisterly toward him. Now I look at him with a disgustful and disapprobative eye. What a very great deal of alteration he needs, and, with that face, and his abbey, and all his rooks to back it, how very unlikely he is to get it! Well, _I_ at least will do my best! We both remain quiet for a few moments. Vick sits at the end of the punt, a shiver of excitement running all over her little white body, her black nose quivering, and one lip slightly lifted by a tooth, as she gazes with eager gravity at the distant wild-ducks flying along in a row, with outstretched necks, making their pleasant quacks. How low they fly; so low that their feet splash in the water, that makes a bright spray-hue in the sun! "Algy is going away to-morrow!" say I, presently. "So he told me." "This is his last evening here!" (in a rather dolorous tone). "So I should gather," laughing a little at the obviousness of my last piece of information. "And yet," say I, looking down through the clear water at a dead tree-bough lying at the bottom, and sighing, "he is going to dine out to-night--to dine with Mrs. Huntley." "With Mrs. Huntley! when?" with a long-drawn whistle of intelligence. "Tell me," cry I, impulsively, raising myself from my reclining pose, and sitting upright, "you will understand better than I do--perhaps it is my mistake--but, if you had seen a person only _once_ for five or ten minutes, would you sign yourself 'Yours very sincerely' to them?" He laughs dryly. "Not unless I was writing _after dinner_--why?" "Nothing--no reason!" Again he laughs. "I think I can guess." "Her name is Zéphine," say I again, leaning over the boat-side and pulling my forefinger slowly to and fro through the warm brown water. "I am well aware of that fact" (smiling). How near the swans are drawing toward us! One, with his neck well thrown back, and his wings raised and ruffled, sailing along like a lovely snow-white ship; another, with less grace and more homeliness, standing on his head, with black webs paddling out behind. "You were quite wrong on Sunday--_quite_," say I, speaking with sudden abruptness, and reddening. "On Sunday!" (throwing his luminous dark eyes upward to the light clouds and faint blue of the August sky above us, as if to aid his recollection), "nothing more likely--but what about?" "About--Roger," I answer, speaking with some difficulty ("and Mrs. Huntley," I was going to add, but some superstition hinders me from coupling their names even in a sentence). "I dare say"--carelessly--"but what new light have you had thrown upon the matter?" "I asked her," I say, looking him full in the face, with simple directness. "_Asked her!_" repeats he, with an accent of profound astonishment. "Asked the woman whether she had been engaged to him, and jilted him? Impossible!"