“Why not?”
“Because we leave to-morrow.”
“Not across to the southern coast? It isn’t safe. Fever—”
“No; by Puerto del Norte.”
“There’s no boat.”
“Yes, there is. You can just see her funnel over that white slope. It’s our yacht.”
“And you think you are going in her to-morrow?”
“Think? I know it.”
“No,” he contradicted.
“Yes,” she asserted, quite as concisely.