"And will you
say good-bye for me to Miss Cunyngham?"
"You needn't bother to leave a message," said Miss Georgie, with
significant eyes. "You'll find she won't be far away from the Horse's
Drink."
And as it chanced, Miss Georgie's forecast (whether inspired by a saucy
impertinence or not) proved correct. Lionel, having bade farewell to all
these friends, got into the wagonette; and away the carriage
went--quietly, at first, over the soft turf and stones--to the river. Of
course he looked out. Yes, there was Miss Honnor--fishing the Whirl
Pool--with old Robert sitting on the shingle watching her. Would she
notice?--or would he get down and walk along to her and claim the
good-bye she had forgotten? The next moment he was reassured. She caught
sight of the approaching wagonette; she carefully placed her rod on the
shingle, and then came walking along the river-bank, towards the ford,
at which the horses had now arrived.
Even at a distance he could not but admire the grace and ease and
dignity of her carriage--the harmonious movement of a perfectly formed
figure; and as she drew nearer he kept asking himself (as if the
question were necessary) whether he would be able to take away a keen
mental photograph of those fine features--the clear and placid
forehead, the strongly marked eyebrows, the calm, self-reliant eyes, the
proud and yet not unsympathetic lines of the mouth.
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