"Have I paid the tribute you claim?" she asked. "If I have, may I not go overboard at my convenience?"
He did not answer. She laid both arms along the gunwales once more, balancing herself to rise.
"We are near enough now," she said, "and the fog is quite gone. May I thank you and depart without further arousing you to psychological philosophy?"
"If you must," he said; "but I'd rather row you in."
"If I must? Do you expect to paddle me around Cape Horn?" And she rose and stepped lightly onto the bow, maintaining her balance without effort while the boat pitched, fearless, confident, swaying there between sky and sea.
"Good-bye," she said, gravely nodding at him.
"Good-bye, Calypso!"
She joined her finger tips above her head, preliminary to a plunge. Then she looked down at him over her shoulder.
"I told you that Calypso was a land nymph."
"I can't help it; fabled Calypso you must remain to me."