"I'm afraid the attempt will be too great a strain upon you," answered Lawrence; but he smiled back, and leaned a trifle nearer his companion. She turned her eyes away immediately, and seemed to drop the idea of playing at lovers. Lawrence's figure stiffened slightly as it withdrew; but he said nothing until he took a cigar-case from his pocket. Then he remarked: "I'm so glad you don't object to smoking." "But it seems coarse to go beyond cigarettes," she answered. "Does it? Then you are not coarse yet." "Thank fortune, no. I wonder if Leander has learned to chew tobacco." No reply. Lawrence smoked slowly, gazing intently at a large yacht that was just entering the river. "Four months is a tremendous while, isn't it?" Prudence put up her hand to yawn behind it as she spoke. "That depends," said Lawrence, gravely. "On what, for instance?" "On the degree in which you are bored." "Ah! Well, there's something in that, Rodney. But tell me truly, how long does it seem to you since we were married?" "Precisely four months and three days and a half." "You are nothing if not accurate, dear." She put up her hand and yawned again. "Accuracy is something," he returned. He was holding his cigar in his hand now, and looking down at the red tip with the utmost apparent interest. After a short silence, Prudence said, "I wish you happened to have a cigarette about you, Rodney." "I have. Your case is in my pocket." She held out her hand. "Give me one, then. I didn't know this water-battery was so deadly dull." Lawrence made no movement to accede to her demand. He flung away his own half-burnt cigar. "Give me one, please." "No. I prefer that you shouldn't smoke here in public." "Oh!" Her eyes narrowed as she looked at her husband; then she burst into a light laugh, and turned to look again at the river. Lawrence glanced at her, then he, too, gazed at the water. A little shallop shot into sight close to the battery. It was rowed by a man who looked up and saw the two. He lifted his cap; he stared persistently at the woman, his eyes showing an open admiration. Then his boat glided on towards the wharves. "Is that Meramble?" "Yes; quite an Italianized-looking man, isn't he?" There was a slight access of color on Lawrence's face, but his voice was perfectly even in its lightness, as he responded: "Was that an Italianized stare he gave you?" Prudence shrugged her shoulders; and that was the only reply she made to the question. More boats and more yachts came by. Sometimes there was waving of hats and handkerchiefs from those on board to the two on the battery. "We must look quite a Darby and Joan," remarked Prudence. "Quite," said Lawrence. Again Prudence turned her eyes quickly on her husband. Then she asked: "Do you remember what Mr. Meramble sang at the Ormistons' last night?" "No." "I do; it was so cute. You were close to the piano; you ought to remember."