“Ready, Leslie?” said Harry.
“Yes.”
The oars dipped, Leslie pulling stroke, and the boat shot out from its dangerous position among the rocks, rose at a good-sized swelling wave, topped it, seemed to hang as in a balance for a moment, and then glided down and went forward in response to a few vigorous strokes.
“Never mind the tiller, Vic,” said Harry; “let it swing. We can manage without that. All right, girls?”
There was no reply.
“Sulky, eh? Well, I’d a good mind to stop in. Sorry you got so wet, Leslie.”
Still no reply.
“Cheerful party, ’pon my word!” said Harry, with a contemptuous laugh. “Hope no one objects to my smoking.”
He looked hard at Madelaine, but she avoided his gaze, and he uttered a short laugh.
“Got a cigar to spare, Vic?”