his instant he again leant forward to begin, and met her glance by
an ardent fixed gaze. An involuntary impulse of girlish embarrassment
caused her to give a vehement pull at the tiller-rope, which brought the
boat's head round till they stood directly for shore.

His eyes, which had dwelt upon her form during the whole time of her
look askance, now left her; he perceived the direction in which they
were going.

'Why, you have completely turned the boat, Miss Graye?' he said, looking
over his shoulder. 'Look at our track on the water--a great semicircle,
preceded by a series of zigzags as far as we can see.'

She looked attentively. 'Is it my fault or yours?' she inquired. 'Mine,
I suppose?'

'I can't help saying that it is yours.'

She dropped the ropes decisively, feeling the slightest twinge of
vexation at the answer.

'Why do you let go?'

'I do it so badly.'

'O no; you turned about for shore in a masterly way. Do you wish to
return?'

'Yes, if you please.'

'Of course, then, I will at once.'

'I fear what the people will think of us--going in such absurd
directions, and all through my wretched steering.'

'Never mind what the people think.' A pause. 'You surely are not so weak
as to mind what the people think on such a matter as that?'

Those words might almost be called too firm and hard to be given by him
to her; but never mind. For almost the first time in her life she felt
the charming sensation, although on such an insignificant subject, of
being compelled into an opinion by a man she loved. Owen, though
less yielding physically, and more practical, would not have had the
intellectual independence to answer a woman thus. She replied quietly
and honestly--as honestly as when she had stated the contrary fact a
minute earlier--

'I don't mind.'

'I'll unship the tiller that you may have nothing to do going back but
to hold your parasol,' he continued, and arose to perform the operation,
necessarily leaning closely against her, to guard against the risk
of capsizing the boat as he reached his hands astern. His warm breath
touched and crept round her face like a caress; but he was apparently
only concerned with his task. She looked guilty of something when he
seated himself. He read in her face what that something was--she had
experienced a pleasure from his touch. But he flung a practical glance
over his shoulder, seized the oars, and they sped in a straight line
towards the shore.

Cythere