When they had rowed an hour longer, back and forth from shore to shore, Craven Kyte drew in his oar and said:
"It is growing late and very dark, love. Had we not better go in?"
"No, no, no!" answered the bride, with prettily assumed authority.
"But, dear love—"
"The night is beautiful! I could stay out here until morning!"
"But chills and fevers, these September nights, darling!"
"Fiddle-de-dee! Are you afraid?"
"Not for myself, love, but for you."
"I never had a chill in my life! I am acclimated to these water-side places. If you are tired of rowing give me the oars."
"Not for the world! What, fatigue your dear arms? I would sooner mine dropped from my shoulders with weariness!"