“Peter,” imploringly.
Then she gave in, and was bad for him: “You were magnificent, Stuart.”
His crow was fervent but subdued. The atmosphere not being conducive to any sound above a whisper.
“Now we’ll just bale out the tub, set it on its hind legs, hoist sail, and be off. She didn’t ship much water; dryest capsize I’ve ever done. A beautiful capsize, really; Peter, I’m glad we capsized; it will have a pleasant look, viewed from to-day a year hence.”
“Pleasant, but passing strange,” she murmured, gazing on the gaunt ribbed outline of their marooned vessel. “‘It was the Schooner “Hesperus,” that all on the shore lay wrecked——’”
“‘The skipper’s daughter had hold of the tiller. So what could you expect?’” finished Stuart.
She surveyed him reproachfully. “Is that—generous?”
“Do you want me to be generous?—Good Lord,” with sudden heat, “do you think I’d pay any other girl on earth the compliment of not fussing round her wet feet ... especially when I so much want to,” he added under his breath. Then returned quickly to his labours on the boat.
Peter was glad that she had not hearkened to the insistent pratings of the other Peter. Glad that Stuart guessed nothing of their existence.... The pictured fire-red interior had acquired a sudden cheapness, viewed in the light of his last speech. Her face burnt at the idea that he should ever know that these easy longings had even for a moment found their entrance. After all, and undoubtedly, this, her present plight, was far more fun; though she was cold beyond all hope of warmth, and tired past all desire for rest,—far more fun ... lean restless ways of fun that he had taught her; strange, slippery ways as the way to the moon, and as unprofitable.
—“Peter! Quick—here!”