“Well, it's not worth while playing to such a bad house.”
“I don't see what we should have to quarrel about,” returned Kent, laughing. “We each give the other credit for independent opinions; and as for action, if you wanted to go to the right and I to the left, I suppose I should give in and let you have your way—if it were not contrary to common sense.”
“And if it were? If it were simply idiotic?”
“Perhaps I should go with you then, to keep you out of harm's way.”
“Thank you,” murmured Clytie rather touched, looking up restfully at the stars.
There was a little silence. Kent puffed at his pipe. The glow attracted George Farquharson, who had just come up on the deck and was groping about for them in the darkness.
“Going to stay here all night?” he asked.
“Most of it,” replied Clytie.
“Kent making you comfortable?”
Clytie murmured an easeful affirmative, and Farquharson, nodding a good-night, disappeared into the darkness.