"Isn't it heavenly?" breathed Hilary, as she lay back on the velvet cushions and watched the man's strong figure bend to the punt-pole.
"I think it is Heaven, Miss St. Orme," he answered in a hushed voice.
The sun had scarcely set in a cloudless shimmer of rose, and, sailing up from the east, a full moon cast a rippling, silvery pathway upon the mysterious water.
The girl drew a long sigh of satisfaction, then laughed a little.
"What a shame to make you work after dinner!" she said.
She saw his smile in the moonlight.
"Do you call this work?" She seemed to hear a faint ring of amusement in the slowly-uttered question.
"You are very strong," she said almost involuntarily.
"Yes," he agreed quietly, and there suddenly ran a curious thrill through her—a feeling that she and he had once been kindred spirits together in another world.
She felt as if their intimacy had advanced by strides when she spoke again, and the sensation was one of a strange, quivering delight which the perfection of the June night seemed to wholly justify. Anyhow, it was not a moment for probing her inner self with searching questions. She turned a little and suffered her fingers to trail through the moonlit water.