She and Reginald heard a clatter of footsteps behind them as they stepped into the Witherbee launch and turned to see the boatman running down the path. He was making gestures that were clearly intended to delay their departure, so they waited.
As he reached the rock from which they embarked he dropped to his knees, stretched his arms wide and looked up at Rosalind with eyes that conveyed to her an expression of doglike devotion. If there was a hint of something else in them, it was not Sam's fault. As an actor he was but an amateur.
Before the lady in the wet gown could divine his purpose he seized her hands in his own, bent his head over them and began kissing them. Rosalind uttered a cry of disgust. His beard tickled! Also she detested sentimentality.
"The poor fellow is trying to tell you how grateful he is," said Reginald.
Rosalind struggled to release her hands, but the boatman clung to them.
"Reggy! Make him let go!" she called sharply.
Reginald laid a rough hand on the boatman's shoulder and shook him. The man lifted his head and stared reproachfully. Then he dropped Rosalind's hands and sighed deeply.
She found as she drew back with a little shudder of annoyance that in the palm of one hand there was a folded bit of paper. Instinctively, her fingers closed over it; there was no need of explaining more things to Reginald.
Not until some time later, when the launch was far on the way to Witherbee's Island, did Rosalind find an opportunity to examine it. Then, her back turned to Reginald, she unfolded the crumpled sheet, and read:
"PAL ROSIE: