"I can't think how I was such a fool as to get drunk last night. It shan't occur again; but, you know, I shouldn't have had this perfectly stunning time if I hadn't, should I? We must repeat it every morning, Marmie, mustn't we?"
"Weather permitting," she replied, almost bitterly. "But it's no often sae comfortable to be in the water as it is this morning, Mr. Duke."
"Ah, you should have been with me in the Indies! You could stop in all day. You're not feeling cold, I hope?"
Cold! With every pulse in her body clamouring for sheer joy in his presence.
"I'll no be cold when I get my shawl," she said calmly; then, seeing him turn, called quickly--
"You're no going across again, Mr. Duke, it isn't safe!"
"Didn't I tell you so from the beginning, eh? No; of course I'm not. I'm going to swim up the side to the steps and send the ghillie for the boat."
She watched the rhythmic spluttering of his overhand stroke past the point. He would be home before her, she thought, as somewhat wearily she climbed the rocks to the keep. It had been a real joy. In all her life, long or short, she would never forget it.
That was the pity of it, for the memory might become a pain.