Joyce had always had the gift of scattering a kind of infectious gaiety around her, and that night she seemed to be in her most bewitching and delightful mood. I think she made up her mind to try and wipe out from my memory for the time being all thoughts of the somewhat harassed state of existence in which it had pleased Providence to land me. If so, she succeeded admirably.
We cooked the supper between us. I boiled the peas and potatoes, and then, when we had done the first course, Joyce got up and made a brilliantly successful French omelette out of some fresh eggs which she had brought down for that inspired purpose.
It was very charming in the little low-ceilinged cabin, with the lamp swinging overhead and no sound outside but the soft lapping of the tide upon the sides of the boat. We lay and talked for some time after we had finished, while I smoked a cigar, and Joyce, stretched out luxuriously on the other bunk, indulged in a couple of cigarettes.
"We won't wash up," I said. "I'll just shove everything through into the fo'c's'le, and we'll leave them there for Mr. Gow. A certain amount of exercise will be good for him after his holiday."
"Do," said Joyce sleepily. "And then come and sit over here, Neil. I want to stroke your hair."
I cleared away the things, and shutting up the table, which worked on a hinge, spread out my own cushions on the floor alongside of Joyce's bunk. The latter was just low enough to let me rest my head comfortably on her shoulder.
How long we lay like that I really don't know. My whole body and mind were steeped in a strange, delightful sense of peace and contentment, and I began to realize, I think for the first time, how utterly necessary and dear to me Joyce had become. I slid my arm underneath her—she lay close up against me, her hair, which she had loosened from its fastenings, half covering us both in its soft beauty.
The lamp flickered and died down, but we didn't trouble to relight it. Outside the night grew darker and darker, and through the open hatch we could just see a solitary star shining down on us from between two banks of cloud. Cool and sweet, a faint breeze drifted in from the silent marshes.
Then, quite suddenly, it seemed to me, a strange madness and music filled the night for both of us. I only knew that Joyce was in my arms and that we were kissing each other with fierce, unheeding passion. There were tears on her cheeks—little sweet, salt tears of love and happiness that felt all wet against my lips.
It was only a moment—just one brief moment of unutterable beauty—and then I remembered. With a groan I half raised myself in the darkness.