“Do you mean this, Brett?”
“Certainly I mean it.”
She stared at him almost incredulously.
“I believe you’re—sorry,” she said slowly.
But in that she miscalculated. Brett would be an unrepentant sinner to the end of his days. He laughed and shook his head.
“Not in the way you mean. Frankly and honestly—Oh, yes”—catching the faint quizzical gleam in her eyes—“I can be both when I want to. The Devil quoting Scripture, you know! Frankly, then, I’m merely sorry that my plan miscarried. It was a splendid plan! Its only fault was that it didn’t succeed.... But I know when I’m beaten. And you’ve beaten me.”
A few minutes later they stood together on the deck, waiting for the dinghy to come alongside.
“Good-night, Brett,” she said, holding out her hand.
He lifted it to his lips with audacious grace.
“It will be a bad night—thanks to you!” he returned with a last flash of mocking humour.