seemed to give it willingly. But I had angered you in the
matter of that----"

"Ay, of that guinea. Well, it was my last."

"Yes, of the guinea. Although I was foolish, yet I could not endure
your----" Again she hesitated.

"Pray let me hear?" said I.

"I would not stay where my company was suffered rather than prized,"
said she.

"So you were for trying fortune alone?"

"Better that than with an unwilling defender," said she.

"Behold your injustice!" I cried. "For, rather than lose you, I have
faced all, even drowning!" And I laughed.

Her eyes were fixed on my face, but she did not speak. I believe she
feared to ask me the question that was in her dark eyes. But at last she
murmured:

"Why do you speak of tricks? Simon, why do you laugh?"

"Why, since by a trick you left me--indeed I cannot believe it was no
trick."

"I swear it was no trick!"

"I warrant it was. And thus by a trick I have contrived to thwart it."

"By a trick?"

"Most assuredly. Am I a man to drown with half a mile's swimming in
smooth water?" Again I laughed.

She leant forward and spoke in an agitated voice, yet imperiously.

"Tell me the truth. Were you indeed in danger and distress?"

"Not a whit," said I composedly. "But you wouldn't wait for me."

Slowly came her next question.

"It was a trick, then?"

"And crowned with great success," said I.

"All a trick?"

"Throughout," I answered.

Her face grew set and rigid, and, if it might be, yet paler than before.
I waited for her to speak, but she said nothing. She drew away the cloak
that she had offered me, and, wrapping it about her shoulders, withdrew
to the stern of the boat. I took her place, and laid hold of the oars.

"What's your pleasure now, madame?" I asked.

"What you will," she said briefly.

I looked at her; she met my gaze with a steady regard. I had expected
scorn, but found grief and hurt. Accused by the sight, I wrapped myself
in a cold flippancy.

"There is small choice," said I. "The beach is there, and that we have
found not pleasant. Calais is yonder, where certainly we must not go. To
Dover then? Evening falls, and if we go gently it will be dark before we
reach the town."

"Where you will. I care not," said Barbara, and she folded her cloak so
about her face that I could see little more of her than her eyes and her
brows. Here at length was my triumph, as sweet as such joys are; malice
is their fount and they smack of its bitterness. H