He looked astonished. "Yes, of course."
"I ask because it will take time for me to get used to your showing me any consideration," she said, with the imp back on her shoulder. "Your iron hand has almost cowed me. You have nearly broken my spirit. I am a humble creature now, grateful for crumbs of kindness."
Franklin threw back his head and laughed until the tears came into his eyes.
"What's the matter?" she asked, gravely.
He turned and looked her full in the face. "The devil was somewhere about when you were born," he said. "I wish to Heaven we were back in the good old days when men could beat their women without fear of police and suffrage and all the silly stuff that protects you against your proper treatment."
Before she could answer he stopped the engine and ran the launch alongside a low ridge of rock, sprang out, helped her up, jammed a pin into a cleft and fastened the painter to it.
She stood up in front of him, proud and glorious in her youth and beauty. "Well, here we are on your desert island," she said. "Beat me. Why don't you?"
For a moment he said nothing. He ran his eyes over her,—golden hair, flower-like face, eyes in which there was a lurking laugh, lovely slim body. "I almost think you're not worth it," he said.
Almost!—how foolish of him to say that. One day soon he should withdraw not only the almost but the whole remark, on his knees,—and be left there, like a fool.
"May I have that little bag, please?" she asked, sweetly.