If Maria could not see the incongruity of a naval captain mishandling a canal boat it was hopeless to argue. Besides, he had no attention to spare for her, not with those cantering horses whisking the Queen Charlotte along like this.

“And this all seems very unnecessary, dear,” went on Maria. “Why should you demean yourself like this? Is there all this need for haste?”

Hornblower took the boat round a bend—he congratulated himself that he was getting the feel of the tiller now.

“Why don’t you answer me?” went on Maria. “And I have our dinner waiting for us, and little Horatio—”

She was like the voice of conscience—for that matter that was exactly what she was.

“Maria,” snapped Hornblower. “Get for’rard! Get for’rard, I say. Go back to the cabin.”

“But, my dear—”

“Get for’rard!”

Hornblower roared this out—here was another barge approaching and he could spare no time for the niceties of married life.

“You are very heartless,” said Maria, “and in my condition, too.”

Heartless, maybe, but certainly preoccupied. Hornblower pulled the tiller over, and Maria put her handkerchief to her eyes and flounced—as much of a flounce as was possible to her as she was—back into the second class cabin again. The Queen Charlotte shot neatly down the gap between the barge and the towpath, and Hornblower could actually spare enough attention to acknowledge with a wave of his hand the greeting of the bargee’s wife. He had time, too, now, for a prick of conscience about his treatment of Maria, but only a momentary one. He still had to steer the boat.

Chapter II

There was still plenty of daylight when they came out into the Thames valley and Hornblower, looking down to starboard, could see the infant river—not such an infant at its winter level—running below. Every turn and every lock brought the canal nearer to the stream, and at last they reached Inglesham, with Lechlade church steeple in view ahead, and the junction with the river. At Inglesham lock Jenkins left his horses and came back to speak to Hornblower.