“If Caracuña were the jail and I the ‘one,’ one might. I quite love it here.”
He made a sharp gesture of annoyance.
“Don’t be childish,” he said.
“Childish? You come down like Freedom from the mountain heights, and unfurl your warnings to the air, and complain of lost time and all that sort of thing, and what does it all amount to?” she demanded, with spirit. “That we should sail away, when you know perfectly well that the Dutch won’t let us sail away! Childish, indeed! Don’t you be beetlish!”
“There’s a way out, without much risk, but some discomfort. You could strike south-east to the Bird Reefs, take a small boat, and get over to the mainland. As soon as the blockade is off, the yacht can take your luggage around. The trip would be rough for you, but not dangerous. Not as dangerous as staying here may be.”
“Do you really think it so serious?”
“Most emphatically.”
“Will you come with us and show us the way?” she inquired, gazing with exaggerated appeal into his goggles.
“I? No.”
“What shall you do?”