“Indeed, it is a shame–Oh, I’m so thirsty! Do you think it would help if we ate something?”
“Make it all the worse. Besides, how could we cook anything? All these reeds are green, or at least water-soaked.”
“But Mr, Blake said to gather some fish. Had you not best–”
“He can pick up all he wants. I shall not touch the beastly things.”
“Then I suppose there is nothing to do but wait for him.”
“Yes, if the sharks do not get him.”
Miss Leslie uttered a little moan, and Winthrope, seeing that she was on the verge of tears, hastened to reassure her. “Don’t worry about him, Miss Genevieve! He’ll soon return, with nothing worse than a blistered back. Fellows of that sort are born to hang, you know.”
“But if he should be–if anything should happen to him!”
Winthrope shrugged his shoulders, and drew out his silver cigarette case. It was more than half full, and he was highly gratified to find that neither the cigarettes nor the vesta matches in the cover had been reached by the wet.
“By Jove, here’s luck!” he exclaimed, and he bowed to Miss Leslie. “Pardon me, but if you have no objections–”