"Shall we be able to keep this up, do you suppose?" Conetta whispered to me, between the last two bites of her biscuit.
"I think the moonlight, what there is of it, is entrancingly beautiful, don't you?" I laughed. "'Sufficient unto the day (or night)——' You know the rest of it. I'm willing to let to-morrow take care of itself. Are you?"
"Maybe I am." Then, with a return to the old-time dartings aside: "What do you imagine Jerry is finding so alluring in Bee Van Tromp? He has never read a book in his life."
"Beatrice isn't all book," I retorted. "On this voyage which has come to such an abrupt halt I have been finding her a very charming young woman. Her eyes, now."
"Shush! Any woman can make eyes at a man. If you'll look around at me, I'll show you."
"Not any more," I said, and the saying was purely in self-defense.
"Wait," she teased. "The island is small—you said it was, didn't you?—and you can't always look the other way." Then: "Can't we even quarrel decently, Dickie Preble?"
Mrs. Van Tromp was rising stiffly and I was saved the necessity of replying.
"Time to go to bed, my dears," said the mother of three with great good-nature. And then to me: "Dick Preble, are you sure you fastened my hammock securely? Because, if you didn't—well, you know—I'm dreadfully heavy. There now! Wild horses wouldn't have dragged that admission out of me at home. Conetta, you rogue, you're laughing at me, but you're blushing, as well, and that's one of the conventions, too. Never mind. I'm afraid every second step will be on a crab, or a scorpion, or some other hideous thing. Good-night, all!"