“I’m ashamed to ask it,” she said abruptly, as she steered me home, her sleeves rolled up, her hair blowing in the wind, “and ashamed of my silly tears too, because I really can’t make out what caused them; but, Mr. Hubbard, I want you to promise me not to go off for your long expeditions⁠—just yet. I beg it of you.” She was so in earnest that she forgot the canoe, and the wind caught it sideways and made us roll dangerously. “I have tried hard not to ask this,” she added, bringing the canoe round again, “but I simply can’t help myself.”

It was a good deal to ask, and I suppose my hesitation was plain; for she went on before I could reply, and her beseeching expression and intensity of manner impressed me very forcibly.

“For another two weeks only⁠—”

“ Mr. Sangree leaves in a fortnight,” I said, seeing at once what she was driving at, but wondering if it was best to encourage her or not.