'When, on the following day, I betook me to the bend of the river in my boat, she was not there. I waited long, and reluctantly pulled away with a certain emotion of pique. But, on the _next_ day again, at the same hour, I saw her light skirt flitting among the silver birches, and at once crept inshore. I had cut some fresh fern roots for her, in place of those she had forgotten. '"Ah, how thoughtful and kind of you," she exclaimed, as she gave me her hand, and allowed me to lead her on board, quite as a matter of course. '"You will have a little row to-day?" said I. '"A very tiny one it must be, then; I am so afraid of mamma," she replied; and in another minute we were skimming over the silvery water. '"Have you mentioned to your mamma your meeting with me?" I inquired. '"With you--a stranger? Oh, I dare not, Captain Fotheringhame." '"You know my name, then!" '"I saw in a newspaper, by the merest chance, that you were a guest of Lord Rothiemay's." 'For certain cogent reasons of my own, I could not help colouring like a great schoolboy at this peer's name, as I had been involved in something closer than a mere flirtation with a daughter of his; but in the present instance, while feeling already inclined to be rather cousinly, I resolved to remain incog. as long as I could. I knew that she would not mention my name at home, and so resolved to abandon myself to the perilous charm of her society during the absence of the Rothiemays in London. I admit freely that I was wrong, selfish in this, and severely was I punished in the end. 'This second day on the river was succeeded by many others, during which I gave myself completely up to the fascination of my new companion, who was so bright, quaint, and _spirituelle_, and full of enthusiasm for music, flowers, scenery, and everything, that she was unlike any other girl I had ever met--more than all, most unlike in style of beauty and manner the stately and patrician daughter of Rothiemay. The boat, in the blaze of the sunshine, was drifting with the current; my sculls in the rowlocks rested on my knees; my cigar, the place and time, disposed me for luxurious reverie; and opposite me sat this beautiful girl, her hat beside her, her golden hair and fair face shaded by her parasol, while she sang in a low voice her song, "Love me always--love me ever," her eyes fixed dreamily on the wooded shore the while. '"Annabelle," said I, softly. '"Who gave you leave to call me by that name?" she asked, pouting. '"Is it not your name?" '"Yes, Captain Fotheringhame." '"And a very pretty one; yet not even pretty enough for you. Why may I not call you by it?" '"It sounds odd on your lips--already." '"But not unpleasant, I hope?"