"_Hein?_" she cried, more than ever on her dignity. He had the
impudence to accuse her of asking him a question!
Jack remembered his manners. With a low bow he presented himself. "I
'm Jack Sayle, at your service. I 'm a lieutenant in the Navy; and I
've just rowed down from Richmond--three miles. I 'm home on leave; and
I 'm looking for an old friend."
"All that is very interesting," said Marjolaine, "but it is n't a
question," and once more she tried to get by.
Jack felt rather injured. She might have shown a little more interest
in the autobiography he had just favoured her with. "I thought it was
polite to tell you who I was. As for the question: it 's uncommon hot,
and when I saw this terrace I said there 'd be sure to be one here. Is
there?"
"What?" cried Marjolaine, this time really stamping her foot.
"An inn?"
"Certainly not."
"Can't you tell me where there is one?"
"I do not frequent them," answered she, freezingly.
"No?" said Jack, crestfallen. "Sorry. I am dry. You see, I 've rowed
all the way from Richmond. Five miles."
Marjolaine had manoeuvred safely inside her own gate. She felt she
could afford a parting shot at him. "I 'm afraid you 'll have to row
all the way back again. Good afternoon." By this time her hand grasped
the handle of the door.
Jack addressed the world in general. "Curious, how different everything
is."