“It’s thin enough for a June evening,” said he. “It may keep off dews, but it will not keep out frost. Please goodness, we shall have neither hail nor rain; that would be putting an edge on to our misery.” Both lapsed into silence. The prospect was cheerless. After about five minutes Kate said, “I wonder why there are twelve hours and a half between tides, and not twelve hours.” “I am sure I cannot tell,” answered Pooke listlessly; he had his head in his hand. “You see,” remarked Kate, “if the tides were twelve hours exactly apart, there would always be flow at the same hour.” “I suppose so.” Pooke spoke languidly, as if going to sleep. “But that extra half-hour, or something like it, throws them out and makes them shift. Why is it?” “How can I say? Accident.” “It cannot be accident, for people can calculate and put in the almanacks when the tides are to be.” “I suppose so.” “And then--why are some tides much bigger than others? We are having high tides now.” Pooke half rose, seated himself again, and said in a tone of desperation, “Look here, Kitty! I ain’t going to be catechised. Rather than that, I’ll jump into the mud and smother. It is bad enough having to sit here in the wind half the night, without having one’s head split with thinking to answer questions. If we are to talk, let it be about something sensible. Shall you be at sister Sue’s wedding?” “I do not know. That depends on whether aunt will let me go.” “I want you to see and worship me in my new suit.” “I may see--I shan’t worship you.” “I almost bowed down to myself in the cheval glass, I looked so tremendous fine; and if I did that--what will you do?” “Many a man worships himself whom others don’t think much of.” “There you are at me again. Fancy--Kate--ducks”-- “And green peas?” “No--bottle-green. Ducks is what I am going to wear, with straps under my boots--lily-white, and a yellow nankeen waistcoat, and a bottle-green coat with brass buttons,--all here in this parcel,--and the hat. My honour! I never was so fine before. Four guineas--with the hat.” “Do you call this ‘talking sensible’?” asked Kate. Again they subsided into silence. It was hard, in the piercing wind, in the darkness, to keep up an interest in any topic. The cold cut like a razor. The wind moaned over the bulwarks of the ferry-boat. The mud exhaled a dead and unpleasant odour. Gulls fluttered near and screamed. The clouds overhead parted, and for a while exposed tracts of sky, thick strewn with stars that glittered frostily. Presently the young man said, “Hang it! you will catch cold. Lie in the bottom of the boat, and I will throw my coat over you.” “But you will yourself be chilled.” “I--I am tough as nails. But stay. I know something better. I have my new bottle-green coat, splendid as the day. You shall have that over you.” “But it may become crumpled.” “Sister Sue shall iron it again.” “Or stained.”