"Studious types," Martha said, "but not necessarily disapproving."
Doak was silent, staring at the water.
"Bored?" Her voice was light.
He looked up. "I've never been less bored. Martha, I...." He shook his head in vexation.
"It's a little early for a pitch," she said, "though you do give it a warming amateur earnestness. Or wasn't it going to be a pitch?"
He looked at her steadily. "What else?"
"A warning maybe?" a break in the light tone.
"What kind of warning?"
It was her turn to look at the water—and to color? It seemed so, faintly, under the tan. She said, "To warn me that you're married or poor or uninterested." She looked up, smiling. "I'm such a simple country girl."
"Yes," he said. "Sure." He looked over at the watchers. "Are they friends of yours?"