"Oh, it's you!" she cried. "How lovely! Half a second, and I'll come over and fetch you."
"Where's Mr. Gow?" I called out.
"He's gone home. I sent him off for a holiday. There's no one on board but me."
She scrambled aft, and unshipping the dinghy, came sculling towards me across the intervening water. She was wearing a white jersey, and with her arms bare and her hair shining in the sunlight, she made a picture that only a blind man would have failed to find inspiring.
She brought up right against the bank where I was standing, and leaning over, caught hold of the grass.
"Jump," she said. "I'll hang on."
I jumped, and the next moment I was beside her in the boat, and we were hugging each other as cheerfully and naturally as two children.
"You dear, to come so soon!" she said. "I wasn't expecting you for ages."
I kissed her again, and then, picking up the oars, pushed off from the bank. "Joyce," I said, "I've done it! I've made enough of the blessed stuff to blow up half Tilbury."
She clapped her hands joyfully. "How splendid! I knew you would. Have you tried it?"