"No," she answered, hardily; "I don't care a penny whether he drowns or not. But you—oh, I'm afraid for you! He won't love you after this."
Then, in spite of herself, she began to laugh again, and then she burst into a violent fit of weeping, bending forward and hiding her face in her hands as she did so.
"No," said Lawrence, grimly; "I don't think I've done anything to win his affection."
As he spoke, he slowed the launch. Its owner presently came up alongside and laid hold of the boat's edge.
"Do you want to get aboard?" inquired Lawrence.
It was an instant before Meramble could reply. Poor devil, it was hard on him!
"Is there any other craft near?" he asked, finally.
Lawrence gazed leisurely about him. "None within five miles, I should say," was the answer.
To this Meramble made no reply in words. The launch came to a stand, and he scrambled aboard. It is dreadful when a human being has within him quite so much of a wild-beast rage. Meramble knew that he had been made ridiculous before this woman. He knew that he was dripping and ridiculous now. He had not been in any real danger; real danger would have eliminated the ridiculous.
Lawrence rose, bowed, and relinquished the charge of the launch to its owner.