It was half-past six when we reached Benson's lock, and dusk was drawing on, and she began to get excited then.

She said she must be in to supper.

I said it was a thing I felt I wanted to be in at, too; and I drew out a map I had with me to see exactly how far it was.

I saw it was just a mile and a half to the next lock--Wallingford--and five on from there to Cleeve.
"Oh, it's all right!" I said.

"We'll be through the next lock before seven, and then there is only one more;" and I settled down and pulled steadily away.
We passed the bridge, and soon after that I asked if she saw the lock.
She said no, she did not see any lock; and I said, "Oh!" and pulled on.
Another five minutes went by, and then I asked her to look again.
"No," she said; "I can't see any signs of a lock." "You--you are sure you know a lock, when you do see one ?" I asked hesitatingly, not wishing to offend her.
The question did offend her, however, and she suggested that I had better look for myself; so I laid down the sculls, and took a view.