“I think it’s just perfect,” she answered cordially.
“I’m glad. Because”—he leaned forward and looked at her intently with a curious sparkling light in his eyes—“I hope you’ll spend a good deal of time on board her.”
“I?” Ann endeavoured to speak as casually as possible, warned by that sudden danger-signal.
“Yes. Wouldn’t you enjoy cruising about the world a bit?”
“Are you thinking of inviting us all to go for a trip in the Sphinx? I’m afraid,” shaking her head, “we’re most of us much too busy people to go racing off half across the world at a moment’s notice.”
“I wasn’t thinking of inviting you all,” he returned coolly. “Even if the yacht could accommodate you. I was limiting the proposed yachting party to you—and me.”
Ann moved restlessly.
“Don’t be absurd, Brett.”
He laughed—that gay, triumphant laughter of his which always made her a little afraid. It sounded so sure, so carelessly confident.
“Then don’t fence with me any longer,” he retorted. “What’s the use of pretending, anyway?”