“Whatever o’clock is it?” she cried in a voice that held almost a sound of scare.
Medenham looked at his watch, and had to hold it close to his eyes before he could make out the hour.
“Time you were back at the hotel,” he said, swinging the boat round quickly. “I am afraid I have kept you out too long, Miss Vanrenen. It is a perfect night, but you must not risk catching a chill——”
“I’m not worrying about that sort of chill—there are others: what will Mrs. Devar think?”
“The worst,” he could not help saying.
“What time is it, really?”
“Won’t you be happier not to know? We have the stream with us now——”
“Mr. Fitzroy—what time is it?”
“Nearly half-past ten o’clock. You did not leave the hotel till after half-past eight.”