Once, when she started nervously at an unexpectedly loud report from one of the rockets, he spoke to her as he would have spoken to a small, frightened animal.

“It’s all right.  I’ll pull out a bit, shall I?  These things make such a beastly row.”

She thanked him in an undertone, and he began to row steadily away from the yacht and the thronging boats.

“You tell me when I’ve gone far enough!” he said.

But she did not tell him, and he rowed on and on through the dark water with only the rhythmic splashing of the oars to fill the silence between them.

They left the laughter and the noise behind, and began to draw towards the far corner of the bay.  The shore rose steeply from the water here, and there came to them the soft breaking of the waves against the cliff as they neared it.

Toby came out of her silence with a jerk.  “Bunny, do you really think it would answer?”

“Sure!” said Bunny promptly.

He drew in his oars with the words, and they drifted on the summer tide.

Toby was looking at him in the starlight with a dumb and piteous irresolution in her eyes.

Bunny leaned to her as he sat, with outstretched hands.  “You poor little frightened mouse!” he said.  “What is it that’s troubling you?  Do you think I wouldn’t make you happy?”

“I think you’d try,” she said dubiously.

For a few seconds she hung back, hesitating; then swiftly, almost with the gesture of one who casts aside a burden, she threw out her trembling hands and thrust them into his.  He took them and held them fast, drawing them gently to him till he had them against his heart.  “I would try, sweetheart,” he said softly.

“Would you?” whispered Toby.  “Would you?”

She went nearer to him; he could feel her trembling from head to foot.

“You think I wouldn’t succeed?” he asked her tenderly.  “You think I’d make you sorry?”

“I don’t know,” she answered quiveringly.  “I—­I’m thinking most of you.”

“Wondering whether it would be good for me to have my heart’s desire?” jested Bunny softly.  “Think it would be too much for me; what, darling?”

“No,—­no!” said Toby.  “Not that!  Only wondering if you are wanting the right thing—­wondering if the thing you call your heart’s desire will bring you happiness.  It—­it doesn’t always, you know, Bunny.  Life is like that.”

Her voice sank a little.

“What do you know about life?” he said.

She shook her head, her face downcast.  “Oh, too much—­too much!” she said.

Bunny sat motionless for a moment or two, but his hold was strong and comforting.  At length very gently he began to draw her nearer.

He almost expected her to resist him, but she did not.  As he drew her, she yielded, till with a sob she suffered herself to be drawn close into his arms.  He had her on the thwart beside him, her face hidden against his shoulder.  He laid his cheek down upon her hair and sat silent.