An old skiff had been dragged up on top of the bank and turned over.
"Sit here," he urged.
Blaming herself for her weakness, she sat upon it with her hands in her lap. The moonlight was strong upon her. There was a wall of undergrowth at her back. Her face and hands stood out against it sharply. Don dropped to the ground at her feet.
"It's damp there," she objected.
"Can't see you when I sit beside you," he said. "I can from here. With only your face and hands showing out of your black dress you look like a spirit."
"A lost spirit!" she said with her little laugh.
"Oh Pen!" he said in distress. "Why should you be unhappy?"
"I hate the moon!" she said. "It makes a fool of me!"
His touch of sympathy unnerved her. That and the glamorous destructive light that would not let her breast be. The last of her defenses collapsed. In spite of herself the tears welled up in her eyes and brimmed over. She lowered her head to hide them, but he caught the sparkle of the drops as they fell. It electrified him. He scrambled to his knees.
"Pen! Pen!" he whispered brokenly.