Light footsteps on the boards behind him brought a smile to his lips; but he neither turned nor stirred. An instant later, hands cool and imponderable as snowflakes rested on his forehead, and silken strands of hair brushed it softly as his wife leaned over him, nestling her head against his own.
"Are you very happy sitting there?" she whispered.
"Supremely happy."
"Why? Because you're so nice and wet, and messy?"
"Yes; and a few other reasons as well."
"What other reasons? Me?"
"Naturally, you dear little goose! Come round and let me get a sight of you, instead of perching behind me like a bird."
She came round obediently, standing a little away from him,—a slim strip of colour that reflected the uncertain sea-tint of her eyes,—and looked down upon his disordered appearance with a small grimace.
"I'm not sure that I love you properly, Theo, when you're quite as muddy as that."
"Oh yes, you do; come on!"