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" Upon which, he plunged his oars deeply into the stream, and the bark shot from the strand. Her expression was a little changed, less innocent, more discerning. She spoke slowly. He had set out to win her, and she had let him start. Her eyes filled as she thought of him, the image of his laughing countenance coming into her mind, to be swiftly followed by a vision of the blood running from his cut hand. There were one or two bitter moments in his life when he had been made to feel that gentility laid on with a brush may sometimes crack and show weak places—that deportment and breeding are after all things apart.
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