he shadows, so that she felt for that time immeasurably
happy and unsuspicious. She sat down at the laden table, smiling again
at the marvels which it carried.

"My word, what a feast!" she said helplessly. "Talk about the Ritz!"

Keith busied himself with the dishes. The softly glowing cabin threw
over Jenny its spell; the comfort, the faint slow rocking of the yacht,
the sense of enclosed solitude, lulled her. Every small detail of ease,
which might have made her nervous, merged with the others in a
marvellous contentment because she was with Keith, cut off from the
world, happy and at peace. If she sighed, it was because her heart was
full. But she had forgotten the rest of the evening, her shabbiness,
every care that troubled her normal days. She had cast these things off
for the time and was in a glow of pleasure. She smiled at Keith with a
sudden mischievousness. They both smiled, without guilt, and without
guile, like two children at a reconciliation.

vi

"Soup?" said Keith, and laid before her a steaming plate. "All done by
kindness."

"Have you been cooking?" Some impulse made Jenny motherly. It seemed a
strange reversal of the true order that he should cook for her. "It's
like _The White Cat_ to have it...."

"It's a secret," Keith laughed. "Tell you later. Fire away!" He tasted
the soup, while Jenny looked at five little letter biscuits in her own
plate. She spelt them out E T K I H--KEITH. He watched her, enjoying the
spectacle of the naive mind in action as the light darted into her face.
"I've got JENNY," he said, embarrassed. She craned, and read the letters
with open eyes of marvel. They both beamed afresh at the primitive
fancy.

"How did you do it?" Jenny asked inquisitively. "But it's nice." They
supped the soup. Followed, whitebait: thousands of little fish.... Jenny
hardly liked to crunch them. Keith whipped away the plates, and dived
back into the cabin with a huge pie that made her gasp. "My gracious!"
said Jenny. "I can never eat it!"

"Not _all_ of it," Keith admitted. "Just a bit, eh?" He carved.

"Oh, thank goodness it's not stew and bread and butter pudding!" cried
Jenny, as the first mouthful of the pie made her shut her eyes tightly.
"It's like heaven!"

"If they have pies there." Jenny had not meant that: she had meant only
that her sensations were those of supreme contentment. "Give me the old
earth; and supper with Jenny!"

"Really?" Jenny was all brimming with delight.