"Then," said the widow placidly, "I would sacrifice my own for the sake of posterity. For you would rescue him for me and you wouldn't an old book."
"Ah, no," protested Bertie, "that was not our proposition. Neither the book nor the latest thing in worsted—"
There was a splash, a gurgle and a horrified scream from the widow, as with a sudden lurch of the boat, the little dog lost his balance and fell overboard.
"Oh, my precious, my lamb," cried the widow. "Bertie, save him for me."
"Yes, yes," declared Bertie, hanging over the rail and watching the struggling dog in the water below. "Yes, yes, certainly."
"Henry," pleaded the widow. "If you love me—"
"Trust me," said Henry soothingly, hiding a gleam of satisfaction in his mild blue eyes. "I will have the boat stopped."
The widow's daughter and chaperon appeared in the companionway, flushed and sleepy. "Mama, what is the matter?"
"Caroline, my precious lamb," and the widow motioned dramatically seaward. "Henry, you said—"
"I will," said Henry. "I will have the boat stopped."