But she waved him away with her hand, turning her face to one side, and leaned back in her cushions, while Ellery waited, hardly breathing. There was a deep hush on the opal waters under the April morning sky, and no sound but the far-off note of a wood-thrush.
“Madeline!” he cried at last. “Be merciful, and speak to me.”
She gathered her self-possession and turned to face him with smiles and dimples, and one swift look full in the face.
“Mr. Norris,” she said airily, and then laughed as his face fell at the title, “we are in the middle of a big sheet of water, and I do not want you to upset the boat; we are visible from many miles of shore, and the world and his wife are driving and motoring on this most beautiful of days; but over on our right there is a lovely little beach, and a clump of willows that have forced the season a bit. Perhaps, if we went there, I might listen to what you have to say.”
“Oh, Madeline, my Madeline,” he said, “I can never tell you because the words are not made that will hold it, and it will take a lifetime to tell it all. But, if you are willing, we will make a beginning over there by the dipping willows.” He shot a stormy glance at her as he caught the oars, and she met it bravely. “Please don’t trail your fingers in the water,” he said. “You are delaying the progress of the boat.”
“Heaven forbid delay!” she cried in mock horror, and showered him with the drops from her lifted hand.
The keel grated, and Ellery sprang ashore and held out his arms to help her.
“Madeline,” he said, sternly holding her at arm’s length, “this spot is so evidently created for a lovers’ bower, that I suspect you of having had your eye on it for a long time. How did you come to direct me here?”
“Instinct,” she laughed. “That wonderful instinct of woman.”
“Shall we stay here for ever and let the world wag?”