She stopped short. Seth stopped, also.
“Go back,” she insisted, adding scornfully: “I don't care for your help at all. I'm partic'lar about my company.”
“I ain't,” sullenly. “Anyhow, I'm goin' to pilot you around the end of that cove. You sha'n't say I let you get into trouble when I might have kept you out of it.”
“Say? Who would I say it to? Think I'm so proud of this night's cruise that I'll brag of it? WILL you go back?”
“No.”
They descended the hill, Mrs. Bascom in advance. She could not see the path, but plunged angrily on through the dripping grass and bushes.
“Emeline—Emeline,” whispered Seth. She paid no attention to him. They reached the foot of the slope and suddenly the lady realized that her shoes, already wet, were now ankle deep in water. And there seemed to be water amid the long grass all about her.
“Why? What in the world?” she exclaimed involuntarily. “What is it?”
“The salt marsh at the end of the cove,” answered the lightkeeper. “I told you you'd fetch up in it if you tried to go alone. Been tryin' to tell you you was off the track, but you wouldn't listen to me.”
And she would not listen to him now. Turning, she splashed past him.