good! Ha, ha!"

A startled rat went swimming for its life against the stream; and Shelton
saw that he had done a dreadful thing: he had let Antonia with a jerk
into a secret not hitherto admitted even by himself--the secret that her
eyes were not his eyes, her way of seeing things not his nor ever would
be. He quickly muffled up his laughter. Antonia had dropped her gaze;
her face regained its languor, but the bosom of her dress was heaving.
Shelton watched her, racking his brains to find excuses for that fatal
laugh; none could he find. It was a little piece of truth. He paddled
slowly on, close to the bank, in the long silence of the river.

The breeze had died away, not a fish was rising; save for the lost music
of the larks no birds were piping; alone, a single pigeon at brief
intervals cooed from the neighbouring wood.

They did not stay much longer in the boat.

On the homeward journey in the pony-cart, rounding a corner of the road,
they came on Ferrand in his pince-nez, holding a cigarette between his
fingers and talking to a tramp, who was squatting on the bank. The young
foreigner recognised them, and at once removed his hat.

"There he is," said Shelton, returning the salute.

Antonia bowed.

"Oh!" she, cried, when they were out of hearing, "I wish he 'd go. I
can't bear to see him; it's like looking at the dark."

CHAPTER XXIX

ON THE WING

That night, having gone up to his room, Shelton filled his pipe for his
unpleasant duty. He had resolved to hint to Ferrand that he had better
go. He was still debating whether to write or go himself to the young
foreigner, when there came a knock and Ferrand himself appeared.

"I should be sorry," he said, breaking an awkward silence, "if you were
to think me ungrateful, but I see no future for me here. It would be
better for me to go. I should never be content to pass my life in
teaching languages 'ce n'est guere dans mon caractre'."

As soon as what he had been cudgelling his brains to find a way of saying
had thus been said for him, Shelton experienced a sense of disapproval.

"What do you expect to get that's better?" he said, avoiding Ferrand's
eyes.

"Thanks to your kindness," replied the latter, "I find myself restored.
I feel that I ought to make some good efforts to dominate my social
position."

"I should think it well over, if I were you!" said Shelton.

"I have, and it seems to me that I'm wasting my time. For a man with an