‘It would be pleasant, I think,’ he added.  ’The tide is still running up.  We might go very quietly for a mile or two, and be back as soon as you like.’

‘Yes, I should like it.’

He brightened up, and moved with a livelier step.  In a few minutes they had chosen their boat, had pushed off, and were gliding to the middle of the broad water.  Widdowson managed the sculls without awkwardness, but by no means like a man well trained in this form of exercise.  On sitting down, he had taken off his hat, stowed it away, and put on a little travelling-cap, which he drew from his pocket.  Monica thought this became him.  After all, he was not a companion to be ashamed of.  She looked with pleasure at his white hairy hands with their firm grip; then at his boots—­very good boots indeed.  He had gold links in his white shirt-cuffs, and a gold watch-guard chosen with a gentleman’s taste.

‘I am at your service,’ he said, with an approach to gaiety.  ’Direct me.  Shall we go quickly—­some distance, or only just a little quicker than the tide would float us?’

‘Which you like.  To row much would make you too hot.’

‘You would like to go some distance—­I see.’

’No, no.  Do exactly what you like.  Of course we must be back in an hour or two.’

He drew out his watch.

’It’s now ten minutes past six, and there is daylight till nine or after.  When do you wish to be home?’

‘Not much later than nine,’ Monica answered, with the insincerity of prudence.

’Then we will just go quietly along.  I wish we could have started early in the afternoon.  But that may be for another day, I hope.’

On her lap Monica had the little brown-paper parcel which contained her present.  She saw that Widdowson glanced at it from time to time, but she could not bring herself to explain what it was.

‘I was very much afraid that I should not see you to-day,’ he said, as they glided softly by Chelsea Embankment.

‘But I promised to come if it was fine.’

’Yes.  I feared something might prevent you.  You are very kind to give me your company.’  He was looking at the tips of her little boots.  ‘I can’t say how I thank you.’

Much embarrassed, Monica could only gaze at one of the sculls, as it rose and fell, the water dripping from it in bright beads.

‘Last year,’ he pursued, ’I went on the river two or three times, but alone.  This year I haven’t been in a boat till to-day.’

‘You prefer driving?’

’Oh, it’s only chance.  I do drive a good deal, however.  I wish it were possible to take you through the splendid country I saw a day or two ago—­down in Surrey.  Perhaps some day you will let me.  I live rather a lonely life, as you see.  I have a housekeeper; no relative lives with me.  My only relative in London is a sister-in-law, and we very seldom meet.’

‘But don’t you employ yourself in any way?’