Mr. and Mrs. Browning were not present. Mr. Browning proved unpersuadable; and as a matter of course Mrs. Browning stayed at home with him. Dr. Duncan failed to accompany his genial wife, and his pretty fifteen-years-old daughter, Annibel, Daisy's great chum. The particular friend of Anice, Rose Bramble, and Rose's brother, Baldwyn, were of the party. Fulvia had no great chums, or particular friends. She always said she could not find anybody who suited her. Malcolm Elvey appeared at the last moment, racing at headlong speed down the garden, just when all hope of him was given up, and Mr. Carden-Cox had actually given the word of command to cast off. The garden ended in a steep wall, which was level with the path on one side, and went sheer down into deep water on the other side, and was broken by the flight of steps and small boat-house. A narrow space divided the steam-launch from the wall, and Malcolm sprang lightly across. He had been an agile schoolboy not long before. "Just in time!" Nigel said. "I couldn't get here sooner. Impossible," panted Malcolm. Some of the party were in high spirits; not all. Baldwyn Bramble, who went in for being witty, made jokes without end, for the benefit of the girls. He rather admired Anice, but found Daisy's retorts sometimes too sharp to be agreeable. Malcolm threw off the cares of parish work, and entered with zest into all that went on. Before luncheon, through luncheon, and after luncheon, as they still steamed up the river, silence had no chance of reigning for the shortest space, and the pretty banks rang with bursts of laughter. Nigel could not get into the full swing of fun. Though joining sufficiently to prevent remark, he was unable to shake off the recollection of Ethel at home gaily talking to the "Australian cousin Tom," and pleased to be there rather than on the river. If only he had seen her a little grieved and disappointed, he could have borne her absence bettor. As it was, he felt that he was not making way with Ethel. Things were different from what they once had been. The old frankness and freedom, the complete trust and understanding between them, seemed to be lacking. He loved Ethel more than ever, but he could not at all tell how much she cared for him. She did care for him, of course, in a measure. "We all," as she had told him, were always ready to give him a welcome; but Nigel craved far more. Ethel had grown older now, and so had he. Perhaps she wished him to feel that things were and must be a little different, that the boy and girl friendship had to be transposed into something more calm and distant. He wanted it transposed himself, but by no means into something more distant.