II.
The next day there was a small party on the river. The party consisted of three: an old gentleman—a complacent old gentleman, who carried his complacence so far as to allow himself to be cast for the rôle of "gooseberry"; a young gentleman, his nephew; and, not to put too fine a point on it, a young lady. This young lady's name was Minnie—Minnie West. There is reason to suspect that she was the cause of the party.
We started—it is probably unnecessary to observe that I was the complacent old gentleman—from Hurley, and we paddled up the stream—that is to say, Ernest paddled, the young lady steered, and I looked on. We kept it up some time, this paddling; but at last Ernest drew the boat into the shore. We landed—a hamper and ourselves. We lunched under the shade of the trees.
While we lunched Ernest persisted—persisted is the word—in conversing on a subject which was scarcely appropriate either to the occasion or the scene—the subject of his lost friend and his phantom violin. One does not wish to dwell on morbid subjects when one is lunching by the crystal waters; but Ernest, apparently, did not see it; and, oddly enough, what he did not see, it seemed that Miss West could not see either. When we had finished, and done justice to the fare, the young gentleman asked a question.
