“Naps, this way! Here you are! Isn’t it a beauty?”
“Hope no one gets drowned,” Iris whispered.
“Every one’s cold sober.”
“But weeds and cramps and things....”
“And currents,” came Guy’s murmur from somewhere just above our heads. “But it’s safe as houses as long as we keep in a line between this bank and the other. Had inquiries made to-day.”
“Sensible Guy!”
“Best way to mend things is to stop them, Iris.”
Our eyes pricked by the wicked little match-lights, we could just make out at our feet the shape of a long motor-canoe and, at one end of it, a jumble of figures. They seemed to be fighting, those figures, bent this way and that in heroic attitudes. The canoe twisted and rocked frantically on its moorings. Fierce whispers, wicked words....
“Steady a moment,” said Guy, just beside us. But they weren’t steady any moments, Venice and Shirley and Hugo, whilst Napier helped them by getting in their way. They were up to something, those frantic figures.
“Steady, I said!” said Guy sharply. That learnt them. Some one in the boat lit a match, and the water shone like black silk. I saw Napier’s white face looking towards us, white face, dark eyes. Love-lost, dreaming....