IN THE DINGHY

When the pair got back to the sea-wall the tide had considerably ebbed, and where the dinghy had floated there was nothing more liquid than exquisitely coloured mud.  Nevertheless water still lapped the yacht, whereas on the shore side of the yacht was now no crowd.  The vans and carts had all departed, and the quidnuncs and observers of human nature, having gazed steadily at the yacht for some ten hours, had thought fit to depart also.  The two women looked about rather anxiously, as though Mr. Gilman had basely marooned them.

“But what must we do?” demanded Madame Piriac.

“Oh!  We can walk round on the dyke,” said Audrey superiorly.  “Unless the stiles frighten you.”

“It is about to rain,” said Madame Piriac, glancing at the high curved heels of her shoes.

The sky, which was very wide and variegated over Mozewater, did indeed seem to threaten.

At that moment the dinghy appeared round the forefoot of the Ariadne.  Mr. Gilman and Miss Thompkins were in it, and Mr. Gilman was rowing with gentleness and dignity.  They had, even afar off, a tremendous air of intimacy; each leaned towards the other, face to face, and Tommy had her chin in her hands and her elbows on her knees.  And in addition to an air of intimacy they had an air of mystery.  It was surprising, and perhaps a little annoying, to Audrey that those two should have gone on living to themselves, in their own self-absorbed way, while such singular events had been happening to herself in Flank Hall.  She put several fingers in her mouth and produced a piercing long-distance whistle which effectively reached the dinghy.

“My poor little one!” exclaimed Madame Piriac, shocked in spite of her broadmindedness by both the sound and the manner of its production.

“Oh!  I learnt that when I was twelve,” said Audrey.  “It took me four months, but I did it.  And nobody except Miss Ingate knows that I can do it.”

The occupants of the dinghy were signalling their intention to rescue, and Mr. Gilman used his back nobly.

“But we cannot embark here!” Madame Piriac complained.

“Oh, yes!” said Audrey.  “You see those white stones? ...  It’s quite easy.”

When the dinghy had done about half the journey Madame Piriac murmured: 

“By the way, who are you, precisely, for the present?  It would be prudent to decide, darling.”

Audrey hesitated an instant.

“Who am I? ...  Oh!  I see.  Well, I’d better keep on being Mrs. Moncreiff for a bit, hadn’t I?”

“It is as you please, darling.”

The fact was that Audrey recoiled from a general confession, though admitting it to be ultimately inevitable.  Moreover, she had a slight fear that each of her friends in turn might make a confession ridiculous by saying:  “We knew all along, of course.”

The dinghy was close in.

“My!” cried Tommy.  “Who did that whistle?  It was enough to beat the cars.”