"What are you doing up here, Phil?" shouted the subject of all my anxious solicitude, as he came out of the cabin of the Florina.
"We had a little breeze, and I came up to save you the trouble of rowing," I replied.
"You have a talent for making blunders, Phil," growled he, in a tone which did much to confirm my suspicions.
"Not a bad blunder, since I am safe here," I replied.
"You might have run her aground, and we should have had to leave her here all summer. Don't you know any better than to run about in the night where you are not acquainted? Is that the way you use other people's boats?"
"The Marian is still afloat, and safe. Do you want any help?"
"No; no such help as you can give. You can't do anything without making a blunder. I should like to knock the conceit out of you."
The more blunders he charged upon me, and the more savage he was, the better assured I became that I had hit the nail on the head. As we were playing at cross-purposes, it was evident that all my direct thrusts would be regarded as blunders by him. What suited him could not possibly suit me, under the present circumstances. I did not know what he was doing on board of the Florina, and I did not care, so long as I knew where he was. He went into the cabin after he had expressed his mind to me, and I did not see him again for over an hour.
"You must be tired, Marian," I said to my fair companion, as I heard her gape.
"I am tired, Philip."