Iris was lying panting somewhere in the canoe. Mostly on our flannels, I thought. But you couldn’t see a thing. We were on the quay, Hugo, Guy, and I. Then Napier came. A silent, phantom presence.
“Don’t strike a match, any one,” Iris whispered. “I’m in my chemise ... what’s left of it....”
A sob, a jumble, a cry: “Oh, God, Oh, God! I’m so glad to be back!”
“Little donkey!” said Guy. “All right now, Venice?”
“Hugo,” Iris called, very huskily, “where’s that champagne? Venice would like ... Child, must you breathe your last down my neck?”
“You saved me!” sobbed Venice. “Yes, you did!”
“Ssh!”
“Ow, I was frightened!”
“Like a mouse in the water. Poor Venice....”
“Here’s another towel, Mrs. Storm,” said Shirley brusquely. Shirley would be a little jealous now of Venice liking Iris....