“Why are you glad?” she asked, looking across at him. She was lying in the stern, propped up with cushions, and made a pretty picture in her big hat and the becoming boating frock which revealed her figure. He gazed at her without answering. Then, as if to conceal his embarrassment, he began to light his briar. “Oh, I don’t know,” he replied awkwardly, tossing the match into the water. “That was the first time I met you, if you remember.” If she remembered! Could she ever forget? That was the thought which flashed into her brain, but she did not utter it. Instead, she said carelessly: “So it was. And the first time you met Jessica, too, wasn’t it?” He made an impatient movement. “Please don’t remind me of that. Every time I think of that woman I feel positively vicious.” “I thought that day,” Yootha continued, after a pause, “that you had eyes for nobody but Cora. You do like Cora, don’t you?” “Of course I like her, though not, perhaps, as much as you like her. Nobody could help liking her--nobody who counts.” “I am glad you say that. In my opinion she is the one woman in the world. I simply worship her, and always have. She is so true, so absolutely free from insincerity. You never met her husband, I think?” “No--fortunately.” “Why fortunately?” “From what I have heard about him he must have been a terrible outsider. Was she very unhappy with him?” “Very. They ought never to have married. Myself, I hated him. He was so selfish, so self-satisfied, in short such a bounder. I ought not, I suppose, to say that of a dead man, but I can’t help it. He was odious. I know you would have thought so had you known him.” Preston went on sucking at his pipe for some moments, without speaking. Presently his eyes met Yootha’s. He tried to look away, but could not. And then, all at once, the girl gave a curious little laugh. It was so unlike her to laugh apparently at nothing, that Preston laughed too. “What are we both laughing at?” she exclaimed, suddenly recovering. She had colored unexpectedly, and Preston noticed that the hand which hung over the side of the punt trembled. “I can’t think,” he said. “I fancy I was laughing because I feel so happy.” “Do you really,” she asked, and he saw that her chest rose and fell beneath the flimsy material she wore. “I wonder why?” “Your cigarette had gone out,” he remarked inconsequently. “Try one of mine. I think you will like them.” He stood up in the punt, and, balancing himself carefully, stepped over to where she lay. Then, kneeling beside her, he held out the case which he had produced from his pocket. He sat close to her when he had lit her cigarette. Somehow her proximity seemed to agitate him. He wanted to speak, to go on conversing on ordinary topics, as they had been, but words refused to come.