g, slipped her arm
through mine and softly stroked my hand. "Don't, Neil," she said.
"I hate you to say anything that isn't fine and generous. It's like
hearing music out of tune."

I drew her to me, and half closing her eyes, she laid her cheek
against mine. We remained silent for a moment or two, and then, giving
her a little hug, I sat up and took hold of her hands.

"Look here, Joyce," I said, "we won't just bother about anything for
the rest of the day. We'll be cheerful and jolly and foolish, like we
were on Friday. God knows how all this infernal tangle is going to pan
out, but we may as well snatch one evening's happiness out of it while
we've got the chance."

Joyce kissed me, and then jumping lightly from the seat, pulled me
up with her. "We will," she said. "After all, we've got a boat and a
lovely evening and a cold pheasant and a bottle of champagne--what
more can any one want?"

"Well," I said, "it may sound greedy, but as a matter of fact I want
some of those peas and new potatoes you were talking about just now."

She let go my hands, and opening one of the lockers, took out a large
basin with a couple of bags in it. "There you are," she laughed. "You
can skin them and shell them while I wash up the tea-things and lay
the table. It's a man's duty to do the dangerous work."

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 fo