Don with a sigh went back to his oars.
Pen with a twist or two, put up her hair in more becoming fashion. She began to pull out the various lengths of cotton with which she had stuffed out her bodice, and dropped them overboard. Don, the irrepressible, began to laugh shakily. Pen gasped, and laughed too. They looked at each other and laughed softly until they felt weak.
"Is that all?" asked Don at last.
Pen fishing around inside her dress nodded.
"Well, I'm relieved," he said.
"Oh, but it's dreadful to laugh now," Pen murmured remorsefully.
"It's the only thing to do," said Don simply.
He was sober enough when they touched the side of the yacht. He made the skiff's painter fast to the grating at the foot of the ladder, and stepping out, drew Pen up beside him.
"Kiss me," he whispered. "Maybe it'll be the last...!"
A murmur of pain was forced from Pen's breast.