He would have drawn her close to him, but she shrank back with a little frightened gesture.
"Come," he said, and he drew her gently toward the boat.
Stella hesitated.
"Suppose," she said, "someone saw us," and the color flew to her face.
"And if!" he retorted, with a sudden look of defiance, which melted in a moment. "There is no fear of that, my darling; we will go down the back water. Come."
There was no resisting that low-voiced mingling of entreaty and loving command. With the tenderest care he helped her into the boat and arranged the cushion for her.
"See," he said, "if we meet any boat you must put up your sunshade, but we shall not where we are going."
Stella leant back and watched him under her lowered lids as he rowed—every stroke of the strong arm sending the boat along like an arrow from the bow—and an exquisite happiness fell upon her. She did not want him to speak; it was enough for her to sit and watch him, to know that he was within reach of her hand if she bent forward, to feel that he loved her.
He rowed down stream until they came to an island; then he guided the boat out of the principal current into a back water, and rested on his oars.