She gave him a small push as half-hearted as her laugh had been. "Don't talk rubbish, please, Charles—if you don't mind! I don't see myself going on the Night Moth with the sea like that; do you?"
"Depends," he said quizzically. "You might be persuaded if the devil were behind you."
"What! In your company!" Her laugh was more normal this time; she gave his arm a kindly touch and put it from her.
"But I'm as meek as a lamb," protested Saltash.
She met his look with friendly eyes. "Yes, I know—a lamb in wolf's clothing—rather a frisky lamb, Charles, but comparatively harmless. If I hadn't realized that—I shouldn't have asked you to come."
"I like your qualification," he said. "With whom do I compare thus favourably? The redoubtable Dick?"
The colour came swiftly into her face and he laughed, derisively but not unkindly.
"It's a new thing for me—this sort of job. Are you sure my lamb-like qualities will carry me through? Do you know, dear, I've never seen you look so amazing sweet in all my life before? I never knew you could bloom like this. It's positively dangerous."
He regarded her critically, his head on one side, an ardour half-mocking, half-genuine, in his eyes.
Juliet uttered a sigh. "I feel a careworn old hag," she said. "My own fault of course. Things are in a nice muddle, and I don't know which way to turn."