"How about to-morrow night?" I said. "If you're not doing anything
else, come along and dine."
For a moment he appeared doubtful. "I should like to very much
indeed. The only trouble is that I shan't have my boat. There's
been something wrong with the engine lately, and I'm taking her round
to Bridwell now to get it seen to." He paused. "Still, that doesn't
really matter," he continued. "I can easily walk along to the inn,
and row across from there."
A bold improvement on my first idea suddenly came into my head.
After all, if I hoped to be successful, it was no good playing the
game in a half-hearted sort of fashion.
"Why not bring a bag and stay the night?" I suggested. "It will save
you a tramp in the dark, and, as far as I'm concerned, you will be
doing a charitable act."
Perhaps it was only my imagination, but it seemed to me that a faint
gleam of satisfaction flickered across his face.
"You're very kind," he said, in that smooth voice of his. "There's
nothing I should enjoy more if I shan't be putting you out."
"Just the contrary," I returned. "I don't know what sort of a meal
you'll get, but I'll try and prod up Bascomb into doing his best." I
pushed my sculls forward into position. "Dinner at half-past seven,"
I added, "unless any other time would suit you better."
"That will do me fine," he replied, switching on his engine. "I
shall look forward to it immensely."
"So shall I," I said, and, with a firm conviction that for once at
least we were both speaking the entire truth, I allowed the current
to carry us slowly apart.