"Pen! ... Pen!" he cried amazed and full of delight. Then added quaintly in a voice of reproof: "You're talking wildly!"
Pen laughed deep in her throat. She slipped off the boat to the ground beside him, where she could wreathe her arms about him, and hide her face on his shoulder.
"You're only a man," she murmured laughing and passionate. "What do you know about love? ... Ah, but only let me love you and I will be content!"
"You'll see whether I can love or not," he said, piqued.
"Keep telling me," she murmured. "My ears are starving for it!"
"I can't tell you to order," he grumbled, manlike. "It must come of itself."
But she knew from the timbre of his voice, from his arms, from the adoring droop of his head, and was content.
He held her a little away from him that he might see her better. Pen yielded up her soul to him through her eyes.
"Good God! how beautiful you are!" he whispered sharply.
Their lips came together. They achieved forgetfulness.