Frona scrambled to her feet. "What's the matter?" "Nothing. Sit down." "But what is the matter?" Corliss put his hands on her shoulders and pressed her back. "Your feet. You can't go on in such shape. They're in ribbons. See!" He brushed the sole of one of them and held up a blood-dripping palm. "Why didn't you tell me?" "Oh, they didn't bother--much." "Give me one of your skirts," he demanded. "I . . ." She faltered. "I only have one." He looked about him. Tommy had disappeared among the ice-floes. "We must be getting on," Frona said, attempting to rise. But he held her back. "Not another step till I fix you. Here goes, so shut your eyes." She obeyed, and when she opened them he was naked to the waist, and his undershirt, torn in strips, was being bound about her feet. "You were in the rear, and I did not know--" "Don't apologize, pray," she interrupted. "I could have spoken." "I'm not; I'm reproaching you. Now, the other one. Put it up!" The nearness to her bred a madness, and he touched his lips lightly to the same white little toe that had won the Baron Courbertin a kiss. Though she did not draw back, her face flushed, and she thrilled as she had thrilled once before in her life. "You take advantage of your own goodness," she rebuked him. "Then I will doubly advantage myself." "Please don't," she begged. "And why not? It is a custom of the sea to broach the spirits as the ship prepares to sink. And since this is a sort of a forlorn hope, you know, why not?" "But . . ." "But what, Miss Prim?" "Oh! Of all things, you know I do not deserve that! If there were nobody else to be considered, why, under the circumstances . . ." He drew the last knot tight and dropped her foot. "Damn St. Vincent, anyway! Come on!" "So would I, were I you," she laughed, taking up her end of the canoe. "But how you have changed, Vance. You are not the same man I met on the Dyea Trail. You hadn't learned to swear, then, among other things." "No, I'm not the same; for which I thank God and you. Only I think I am honester than you. I always live up to my philosophy." "Now confess that's unfair. You ask too much under the circumstances--" "Only a little toe." "Or else, I suppose, you just care for me in a kind, big-brotherly way. In which case, if you really wish it, you may--" "Do keep quiet," he broke in, roughly, "or I'll be making a gorgeous fool of myself." "Kiss all my toes," she finished. He grunted, but did not deign a reply. The work quickly took their breath, and they went on in silence till they descended the last steep to where McPherson waited by the open river. "Del hates St. Vincent," she said boldly. "Why?"