"Not here! Remember where we are. You are not looking well, Boyd. I don't know that I ever saw you look so badly. Perhaps it is your clothes."
"I am tired," he confessed, feeling anew the weariness of the past twenty-four hours. He covertly stroked a fold of her dress, murmuring: "You are here, after all. And you love me, Mildred? You haven't changed, have you?"
"Not at all. Have you?"
His deep breath and the light that flamed into his face was her answer. "I want to be alone with you," he cried, huskily. "My arms ache for you. Come away from here; this is torture. I'm like a man dying of thirst."
No woman could have beheld his burning eagerness without an answering thrill, and although Mildred sat motionless, her lids drooped slightly and a faint color tinged her cheeks. Her idle hands clasped themselves rigidly.
"You are always the same," she smiled. "You sweep me away from myself and from everything. I have never seen any one like you. There are people everywhere. Father is somewhere close by."
"I don't care-"
"I do."
"My launch is alongside; let me take you ashore and show you what I have done. I want you to see."
"I can't. I promised to go ashore with the Berrys and Mr. Marsh."