This, or such as this, to all of his overtures which hinted at later hours, a trip to that mysterious and fascinating boat club on the Little Shark twenty-five miles out, where, as he so glibly explained, were to be enjoyed dancing, swimming, boating, music, feasting. But as Ida who had never done any of these things soon discovered for herself, this would require an unheard-of period of time—from noon until midnight—or later Saturday, whereas her father had fixed the hour of eleven-thirty for her return to the parental roof. “Ah, don’t you want to have any fun at all? Gee! He don’t want you to do a thing and you let him get away with it. Look at all the other girls and fellows around here. There’s not one that’s as scary as you are. Besides, what harm is there? Supposing we don’t get back on time? Couldn’t we say the car broke down? He couldn’t say anything to that. Besides, no one punches a time clock any more.” But Ida nervous and still resisting, and Hauptwanger, because of this very resistance, determined to win her to his mood and to outwit her father at the same time. And then the lure of summer nights—Corybantic—dithyrambic—with kisses, kisses, kisses—under the shadow of the trees in King Lake Park, or in one of the little boats of its lake which nosed the roots of those same trees on the shore. And with the sensitive and sensual, and yet restricted and inexperienced Ida, growing more and more lost in the spell which youth, summer, love, had generated. The beauty of the face of this, her grand cavalier! His clothes, his brisk, athletic energy and daring! And with him perpetually twittering of this and that, here and there, that if she only truly loved him and had the nerve, what wouldn’t they do? All the pleasures of the world before them, really. And then at last, on this same lake—with her lying in his arms—himself attempting familiarities which scarcely seemed possible in her dreams before this, and which caused her to jump up and demand to be put ashore, the while he merely laughed.