To have spoken lightly on such a subject a few hours ago would have seemed incredible. ‘It—it is—nothing,’ she uttered jerkily. I don’t suppose a girl can tell if a man is in love with her or not in love with her. He had conveyed it to her, not verbally, but by means of a letter, which seemed to her a singularly ignoble method of prohibition. A few words passed between him and the thief-taker as the latter came up; after which, all the party—with the exception of Quilt, who was left on shore —embarked within the wherry, which was pushed from the strand and rowed swiftly along the stream—for the tide was in its favour—by a couple of watermen. “One moment, if you please!” She stopped short and looked round.
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