Monty held his peace, but his eyes glistened in the starlight. I think he was happy that we two boys had been drawn to him, as inevitably as needles to a magnet. At last he said:
"I suppose we ought to turn in now. But promise me you'll continue this talk to-morrow, if it's another lovely night like this."
"Surely," assented Doe, as we arose and folded up the chairs.
"I hope when we wake we shan't be out at sea," suggested I, "for I want to watch old England receding into the distance."
Monty looked at me and smiled.
"Rupert," he said, and it was like him to use my Christian name without as much as a "by your leave" within the first dozen hours of our acquaintance, "you're one of them."
"One of whom?"
"One of those to whom I could forgive everything. You both are. Good night, Rupert. Good night, Edgar."