“Tell me. Have we been in danger?”
“Not since you found it out, and we have had something ready. If it had suddenly given way, matters might have been different; but as it is, we have nothing to fear beyond the discomfort of a wet boat.”
“And I suppose there will be some one about. Mr Grey calls this the Land of the Always-up.”
“I suppose so. At any rate, we will get them up at Kviknaes’. Perhaps Mrs Martyn will have thought of you sufficiently to order a room to be kept for you. You ought to see Balholm now.”
“There is too much mist.”
Gradually this light mist melted, light laughed out, a wind swept the mountains and left them clear; everything was bathed in silvery radiance, the colours were delicate, the air vigorous and keen. Anne shivered.
“It is like one’s lost youth,” she said.
Her lost youth! Wareham lifted a look of reproach, but circumstances had come to the aid of his faltering resolution, since scooping water from the bottom of a boat is fatal to the sentimental view. Anne at last began to laugh at him.
“I am sure your back aches,” she said.
“You may be sure. There is lost youth if you like,” he answered, straightening himself, and stretching.