"But I'm quite all right now, Kenny," she protested as they drove up the lane. "It's partly the heat. Why didn't you wake me?"
He swung her lightly to the ground.
"I liked to think I was helping you rest," he said gently. "You need it. Don't wait, dear. It's late."
He climbed back in the car and glided off barnwards, waving his arm. Joan went slowly up the stairway to her room.
Latticed moonlight lay upon a chair by the window. She dropped into it, weary and inert, grateful for the rushing sound of the river; it soothed her with familiar music. A clock downstairs chimed the hour, then the half—and then another hour. Below in the moonlight a man was climbing up from the river.
"Brian," she called breathlessly, "is it you?"
"Yes."
"Dr. Cole will scold. It's twelve o'clock."
Brian tossed his cigarette away with a sigh.
"He'll never know. I've been sitting down there in the punt. The river's silver. Come down for a while," he implored. "All evening I've been as lonely as a leper. Ever since you motored off with Kenny, Don's been a grouch. Can't you climb down the vine?"