They thus sat facing each other in the graceful yellow cockle-shell, and his eyes frequently found a resting-place in the depths of hers.  The boat was so small that at each return of the sculls, when his hands came forward to begin the pull, they approached so near to her that her vivid imagination began to thrill her with a fancy that he was going to clasp his arms round her.  The sensation grew so strong that she could not run the risk of again meeting his eyes at those critical moments, and turned aside to inspect the distant horizon; then she grew weary of looking sideways, and was driven to return to her natural position again.  At this instant he again leant forward to begin, and met her glance by an ardent fixed gaze.  An involuntary impulse of girlish embarrassment caused her to give a vehement pull at the tiller-rope, which brought the boat’s head round till they stood directly for shore.

His eyes, which had dwelt upon her form during the whole time of her look askance, now left her; he perceived the direction in which they were going.

‘Why, you have completely turned the boat, Miss Graye?’ he said, looking over his shoulder.  ’Look at our track on the water—­a great semicircle, preceded by a series of zigzags as far as we can see.’

She looked attentively.  ‘Is it my fault or yours?’ she inquired.  ‘Mine, I suppose?’

‘I can’t help saying that it is yours.’

She dropped the ropes decisively, feeling the slightest twinge of vexation at the answer.

‘Why do you let go?’

‘I do it so badly.’

’O no; you turned about for shore in a masterly way.  Do you wish to return?’

‘Yes, if you please.’

‘Of course, then, I will at once.’

’I fear what the people will think of us—­going in such absurd directions, and all through my wretched steering.’

‘Never mind what the people think.’  A pause.  ’You surely are not so weak as to mind what the people think on such a matter as that?’

Those words might almost be called too firm and hard to be given by him to her; but never mind.  For almost the first time in her life she felt the charming sensation, although on such an insignificant subject, of being compelled into an opinion by a man she loved.  Owen, though less yielding physically, and more practical, would not have had the intellectual independence to answer a woman thus.  She replied quietly and honestly—­as honestly as when she had stated the contrary fact a minute earlier—­

‘I don’t mind.’

’I’ll unship the tiller that you may have nothing to do going back but to hold your parasol,’ he continued, and arose to perform the operation, necessarily leaning closely against her, to guard against the risk of capsizing the boat as he reached his hands astern.  His warm breath touched and crept round her face like a caress; but he was apparently only concerned with his task.  She looked guilty of something when he seated himself.  He read in her face what that something was—­she had experienced a pleasure from his touch.  But he flung a practical glance over his shoulder, seized the oars, and they sped in a straight line towards the shore.