“The only thing that’s quite plain,” I said, “is the fact that McMurtrie and Savaroff have been lying to me from the start.  They are no more powder-merchants than you are.  They want to get hold of my invention for some reason—­to make money out of it, I suppose—­and then they’re prepared to clear out and leave me to George and the police.  At least, that’s what it’s beginning to look like.”

“Well, anyhow,” said Joyce, “you’re not tied to them any longer by your promise.”

“No,” I said; “it takes two to keep a bargain.  Besides,” I added rather bitterly, “I can afford the privilege of breaking my word.  It’s only what you’d expect from a convict.”

Joyce got up, and coming to where I was sitting, 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.