Once more he kept her eyes seaward by pointing out that the ship was coming about.
“Brassid,” she laughed, “to-morrow we shall go out to that ship!”
“Yes,” he smiled.
She had come very close to him. She was dancing on her toes upon the bar. The tide was running in rapidly. The sun was overhead in all its September glory. She held by his arms and danced. Her hair was confined under a pale-green scarf, save where it escaped. Below in the green water he could see her loveliness foreshortened.
“Brassid, you are staring at me. Do you see the scales?
“Why are you so quiet—now?
“Brassid, I can touch bottom no longer. See! I must be in your arms! That is my only excuse—I am tired. Aha!”
She laughed gloriously.
“Brassid—dear—good—luck—to—you!” she whispered.
He kissed her.