“Listen, Powell,” I said. “We got to know each other by chance?”
“Oh, quite!” he admitted, adjusting his hat.
“And the science of life consists in seizing every chance that presents itself,” I pursued. “Do you believe that?”
“Gospel truth,” he declared innocently.
“Well, don’t forget it.”
“Oh, I! I don’t expect now anything to present itself,” he said, jumping ashore.
He didn’t turn up at high water. I set my sail and just as I had cast off from the bank, round the black barn, in the dusk, two figures appeared and stood silent, indistinct.
“Is that you, Powell?” I hailed.
“And Mrs. Anthony,” his voice came impressively through the silence of the great marsh. “I am not sailing to-night. I have to see Mrs. Anthony home.”
“Then I must even go alone,” I cried.