"You said just now—you hinted, I mean—that you were unhappy with Mr.—with your husband. Is that so?"
It was the second time she had been asked the question to-day. A faint smile crossed her face.
"Well?" she said again.
"I mean," he answered with a nervous laugh, "I don't like to see it— and—I meant, if I could help you—"
"To run away? Will you help me to run away?" Her eyes suddenly blazed upon him, and as she bent forward, and almost hissed the words, he involuntarily drew back a step.
"Well," he stammered, "he's a good fellow, really, is your husband— he's been very good to me and all that—"
"Ah!" she exclaimed, turning away, "I thought so. Come, we are wasting time."
"Stop!" cried Sam.
But she had passed swiftly down the sloping deck and dropped into the boat without his assistance. He followed unsteadily, untied the painter, and jumped down after her. They rowed for some time in silence after the retreating picnickers. Before they came abreast of the hindmost boat, however, Sam spoke—
"Look here. I can't help myself, and that's the truth. If you want to run away I'll help you." He groaned inwardly as he said it.