"You know," said Dora, "I hate your going, Lorne!"
She did indeed seem moved, about the mouth, to discontent.
There was some little injury in the way she swung her foot.
"I was hoping Mr Fulke wouldn't get better in time; I
was truly!"
The gratitude in young Murchison's eyes should have been
dear to her. I don't know whether she saw it; but she
must have been aware that she was saying what touched
him, making her point.
"Oh, it's a good thing to go, Dora."
"A good thing for you! And the regatta coming off the
first week in June, and a whole crowd coming from Toronto
for it. There isn't another person in town I care to
canoe with, Lorne, you know perfectly well!"
"I'm awfully sorry!" said Lorne. "I wish--"
"Oh, I'm GOING, I believe. Stephen Stuart has written
from Toronto, and asked me to sail with him. I haven't
told Mother, but he's my second cousin, so I suppose she
won't make a fuss."
The young man's face clouded; seeing which she relented.
"Oh, of course, I'm glad you're going, really," she
assured him. "And we'll all be proud to be acquainted
with such a distinguished gentleman when you get back.
Do you think you'll see the King? You might, you know,
in London."
"I'll see him if he's visible," laughed Lorne. "That
would be something to tell your mother, wouldn't it? But
I'm afraid we won't be doing business with His Majesty.
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