"Thank you kindly," Miss Desmond stepped lightly into the boat. "I rather like compliments, especially when you're solidly built--like myself. Oh, yes, I'll steer; pull hard, bow, she's got no way on her yet, and the stream's strong just here under the bridge. I gather that you've been proposing to my niece." "I didn't mean to," said Temple, pulling a racing stroke in his agitation. "Gently, gently! The Diamond Sculls aren't at stake. She led you on, you mean?" He rested on his oars a moment and laughed. "What is there about you that makes me feel that I've known you all my life?" "Possibly it's my enormous age. Or it may be that I nursed you when you were a baby. I have nursed one or two in my time, though I mayn't look it.--So Betty entrapped you into a proposal?" "Are you trying to make me angry? It's a dangerous river. Can you swim." "Like any porpoise. But of course I misunderstand people if they won't explain themselves. You needn't tremble like that. I'll be gentle with you." "If I tremble it's with pleasure," said Temple. "Come, moderate your transports, and unfold your tale. My ears are red, I know, but they are small, well-shaped and sympathetic." "Well then," said Temple; and the tale began. By the time it was ended the boat was at a standstill on the little backwater below the pretties of the sluices. There was a silence. "Well?" said Temple. "Well," said Miss Desmond, dipping her hand in the water--"what a stream this is, to be sure!--Well, your means are satisfactory and you seem to me to have behaved quite beautifully. I don't think I ever heard of such profoundly correct conduct." "If I've made myself out a prig," said Temple, "I'm sorry. I could tell you lots of things." "Please spare me! Why are people always so frightfully ashamed of having behaved like decent human beings? I esteem you immensely." "I'd rather you liked me." "Well, so I do. But I like lots of people I don't esteem. If I'd married anyone it would probably have been some one like that. But for Betty it's different. I shouldn't have needed to esteem my own husband. But I must esteem hers." "I'll try not to deserve your esteem more than I'm obliged," said Temple, "but your liking--what can I do to deserve that--?" "Go on as you've begun, my dear young man, and you'll be Aunt Julia's favourite nephew. No--don't blush. It's an acknowledgement of a tender speech that I always dispense with." "Advise me," said he, red to the ears and hands. "She doesn't care for me, at present. What can I do?" "What most of us have to do--when we want anything worth wanting. Wait. We're going home the day after to-morrow. If you turn up at Long Barton about the middle of September--you might come down for the Harvest Festival; it's the yearly excitement. That's what I should do." "Must I wait so long as that?" he asked. "Why?" "Let me whisper in your ear," said Miss Desmond, loud above the chatter of the weir. "Long Barton is very dull! Now let's go back."