Molly looked doubtful.

"Well, come down to the water, and have a look at it," said Jimmy.
"That'll be better than nothing."

They walked to the water's edge together in silence, Jimmy in a fever
of anxiety. He looked behind him. No signs of Wesson yet. All might
still be well.

"It does look nice, Jimmy, doesn't it?" said Molly, placing a foot on
the side of the boat and rocking it gently.

"Come on," said Jimmy hoarsely. "Give him the slip. Get in."

Molly looked round hesitatingly.

"Well--oh, bother, there he is. And he's seen me."

Jimmy followed her gaze. The dapper figure of Mr. Wesson was moving
down the lawn. He had a tennis racquet in his hand. His face wore an
inviting smile.

Jimmy glared at him hopelessly.

Mr. Wesson had vanished now behind the great clamp of laurels which
stood on the lowest terrace. In another moment he would reappear round
them.

"Bother!" said Molly again. "Jimmy!" For gently, but with extreme