w down again and take her on the river
because he was quite trustworthy; inquired her opinion of Tchekov, gave
her his own; wished they could go to the Russian ballet together some
time--considered the name Fleur Forsyte simply topping; cursed his people
for giving him the name of Michael on the top of Mont; outlined his
father, and said that if she wanted a good book she should read "Job";
his father was rather like Job while Job still had land.

"But Job didn't have land," Fleur murmured; "he only had flocks and herds
and moved on."

"Ah!" answered Michael Mont, "I wish my gov'nor would move on. Not that
I want his land. Land's an awful bore in these days, don't you think?"

"We never have it in my family," said Fleur. "We have everything else.
I believe one of my great-uncles once had a sentimental farm in Dorset,
because we came from there originally, but it cost him more than it made
him happy."

"Did he sell it?"

"No; he kept it."

"Why?"

"Because nobody would buy it."

"Good for the old boy!"

"No, it wasn't good for him. Father says it soured him. His name was
Swithin."

"What a corking name!"

"Do you know that we're getting farther off, not nearer? This river
flows."

"Splendid!" cried Mont, dipping his sculls vaguely; "it's good to meet a
girl who's got wit."

"But better to meet a young man who's got it in the plural."

Young Mont raised a hand to tear his hair.

"Look out!" cried Fleur. "Your scull!"

"All right! It's thick enough to bear a scratch."

"Do you mind sculling?" said Fleur severely. "I want to get in."

"Ah!" said Mont; "but when you get in, you see, I shan't see you any more
to-day. Fini, as the French girl said when she jumped on her bed after
saying her prayers. Don't you bless the day that gave you a French
mother, and a name like yours?"

"I like my name, but Father gave it me. Mother wanted me called
Marguerite."

"Which is absurd. Do you mind calling me M. M. and letting me call you
F. F.? It's in the spirit of the age."

"I don't mind anything, so long as I get in."

Mont caught a little crab, and answered: "That was a nasty one!"

"Please row."

"I am." And he did for several strokes, looking at her with rueful
eagerness. "Of course, you know," he ejaculated, pausing, "that I came
to see you, not your father's pictures."

Fleur rose.

"If you don't row, I shall get out and swim."

"Really and truly? Then I could come in after yo