"Oh, just slow."
In spite of the fact that the stars were shining bravely, the night was very dark, much too dark for John to be able to see Pat's face; he got the impression that, could he have seen it, he would have discovered that she was smiling that old mocking smile of hers. And somehow, though in the past he had often wilted meekly and apologetically beneath this smile, it filled him now with a surge of fury. He plied the paddle wrathfully, and the boat shot forward.
"Don't go so fast," said Pat.
"I thought I was slow," retorted John, sinking back through the years to the repartee of school days.
Pat gurgled in the darkness.
"Did I wound you, Johnnie? I'm sorry. You aren't slow. It's just prudence, I expect."
Prudence! John ceased to paddle. He was tingling all over, and there had come upon him a strange breathlessness.
"How do you mean, prudence?"
"Oh, just prudence. I can't explain."
Prudence! John sat and stared through the darkness in a futile effort to see her face. A water rat swam past, cleaving a fan-shaped trail. The stars winked down at him. In the little island a bird moved among the reeds. Prudence! Was she referring...? Had she meant...? Did she allude...?