The effort would bore her considerably, but she hoped for some compensation from his chagrin. The city was, however, for the following days, almost obliterated by pelting rain. But even that brought a measure of consolation. Ethel sat at her window, and watched the green river grow turbid and swollen under the streaming skies. "I hope he likes his raft," she murmured grimly. But it was her husband who on that aspiration had the first news. He had paid a visit to Vacz, and meant to return by water. On the pier he found Caragh, whose curiosity in raft travel was satisfied, and who yearned for dry clothes. They travelled by the same boat, and Maurice explained that his adventure dated back many years in design, which a chance meeting with a timber merchant at Gyor enabled him to execute. He gave an account of the raft-men, their hardihood, humour, and riparian morality. "I see," said Vernon, amused and interested. "Pity it's not the sort of thing that appeals to a woman!" Caragh looked at him doubtfully. "I suppose it's not," he said. "I mean as a reason for having kept her waiting," Vernon continued. "Must think of something else," soliloquized the other dolefully. Vernon laughed. "There's always that happy alternative for a Celt. Oh, by the way," he cried, with sudden remembrance, "how's the lady?" "Which lady?" Caragh enquired. "The lady you're going to marry in that green isle of yours. We heard of her from Miss Persse, who'd been staying over there, at Bally--something or other." "Miss Nevern?" Caragh suggested absently, looking across the river; he was not a man very easy to surprise. "That's the name!" said Vernon. "When does it come off?" "I'm afraid you'll have to ask Miss Persse," replied the other slowly; "I'm not in her confidence." "Well, I'm sorry," the politician said. "I hoped you were going to settle down and lead an honest life." "I've kept out of prison--and Parliament, so far," replied Caragh thoughtfully. "Your things turned up all right, and I took a room for them," Vernon explained, as they landed at the Ferencz Jozsef Quay and went up to the hotel. "The place is so full over this religious Bill that it's hard to get in anywhere." He went up with Caragh to see if the right room had been reserved. "We're dining down below at seven; everything's early here. Kapitany is coming, the leader of the opposition in the Magnates." Caragh got out of his wet things in which he had lived during the two days of rain, took a bath, and dressed. There were still two hours to dinner, and he debated for a moment if he should go in search of Ethel Vernon. Something in his remembrance of her husband's smile, however, seemed to deprecate hurry, and he was aware that the man who knew not how to wait came only to the things he had not wanted. As he doubted what to do, he remembered vividly where he was. While he loitered, under an apricot twilight the Váczi-utcza was becoming silvered with its thousand lamps.