“Yes.”  Keith pressed closer to her, stifling her breath.  She saw his brown cheeks for an instant before she was again enveloped in his strong embrace; and then she heard a single word breathed in her ear.

“Liar!” said Keith.  In a moment he added:  “Sorry be pole-axed.”

ii

It was the second time in that evening that Jenny had been accused of lying; and when the charge had been brought by Alf she had flamed with anger.  Now, however, she felt no anger.  She felt through her unhappiness a dim motion of exulting joy.  Half suffocated, she was yet thrilled with delight in Keith’s strength, with belief in his love because it was ardently shown.  Strength was her god.  She worshipped strength as nearly all women worship it.  And to Jenny strength, determination, manhood, were Keith’s attributes.  She loved him for being strong; she found in her own weakness the triumph of powerlessness, of humiliation.

“You’re suffocating me,” she warned him, panting.

“D’you love me a little?”

“Yes.  A little.”

“A lot!  Say you love me a lot!  And you’re glad you came ...”

Jenny held his face to hers, and kissed him passionately.

“Dear!” she fiercely whispered.

Keith slowly released her, and they both laughed breathlessly, with brimming, glowing eyes.  He took her hand, still smiling and watching her face.

“Old silly,” Keith murmured.  “Aren’t you an old silly!  Eh?”

“So you say.  You ought to know....  I suppose I am ...”

“But a nice old silly....  And a good old girl to come to-night.”

“But then you knew I should come,” urged Jenny, drily, frowningly regarding him.

“You can’t forgive that, can you!  You think I ought to have come grovelling to you.  It’s not proper to ask you to come to me ... to believe you might come ... to have everything ready in case you might come.  Prude, Jenny!  That’s what you are.”

“A prude wouldn’t have come.”

“That’s all you know,” said Keith, teasingly.  “She’d have come—­out of curiosity; but she’d have made a fuss.  That’s what prudes are.  That’s what they do.”

“Well, I expect you know,” Jenny admitted, sarcastically.  The words wounded her more than they wounded him.  Where Keith laughed, Jenny quivered.  “You don’t know what it means to me—­” she began again, and checked her too unguarded tongue.

“To come?” He bent towards her.  “Of course, it’s marvellous to me!  Was that what you meant?”

“No.  To think ... other girls ...”  She could not speak distinctly.

“Other girls?” Keith appeared astonished.  “Do you really believe ...”  He too paused.  “No other girls come on this yacht to see me.  I’ve known other girls.  I’ve made love to other girls—­what man hasn’t?  You don’t get to my age without ...”

“Without what?” Jenny asked coolly.

“I’m not pretending anything to you.  I’m thirty and a bit over.  A man doesn’t get to my age...No man does, without having been made a fool of.”