"We shall be here all night!" she cried, despairing.
He did not answer. All his attention was concentrated on his efforts to release the boat.
Actually how long it stuck there neither of them knew. The moon sank lower, glowing, molten; myriads of mosquitoes beat about them, bit their faces, hands, and feet; the river seemed as stagnant as a pool.
Trixie felt paralysed, as in a nightmare. What if they were kept prisoners till the dawn--even longer--even till George should have returned to the bungalow and found her absent?
All at once, with a lurch, the boat shot free, and Trixie burst into tears of relief.
Guy Greaves felt almost hysterical himself. "It's all right now, Trixie. Don't cry." He spoke with cheerful reassurance. "I'll row hard, and we shall catch the others up in no time."
"They must have landed long ago," she quavered. "Can't we go back to the starting-place? It must be nearer."
"But the traps were to meet us at the grove," he reminded her. "We should have to walk all the way home if we went back, and that would take ever so much longer."
"Supposing the others haven't waited," she suggested nervously. "It would be just like them. They can't all get into the same trap, and they'd take yours and leave us to fish for ourselves without caring twopence!" Her agitation rendered her petulant and pessimistic. "You know how thoughtless and inconsiderate Mrs. Roy can be. That is why George can't bear her."
"Oh, nonsense! Mrs. Roy's dog-cart holds four at a pinch, if they let the syce follow. Even if they did take my trap, they'd send it back to meet us. Anyway, don't worry about that till we get there."