“Let me conduct your marvelous majesty to a seat beside the wheel.” Hal offered his hands with a motion of exaggerated gallantry. He caught Marjorie’s hands in his own and half swung her down from the little pier and into the motor boat. “Thank you, gallant and distinguished skipper,” was Marjorie’s blithe response as she sat down on the small cushioned bench nearest the wheel, guided by Hal’s devoted arm. “I had no idea you appreciated me so highly.” He managed to keep up the light, bantering tone he had first used. It was not easy. What he longed to say to her as she turned her vivid, sparkling face toward him was: “I love you. I love you.” “Why shouldn’t I appreciate you?” Marjorie merrily insisted. She was relieved at Hal’s apparently light mood. She hoped it would continue for at least the greater part of the ride. She preferred to ward off the dreaded talk as long as she could. She had agreed with her captain that Hal had the right to be heard; that it was not fair to him to evade longer an understanding with him. “I don’t know. Why should you?” countered Hal. “For two splendid reasons. You’re taking me for a ride in the Oriole. Besides, you called me ‘marvelous majesty,’ which is a most flattering title. Oh, Hal Macy!” Marjorie exclaimed with animated irrelevancy; “isn’t this the most heavenly blue and white and gold day? Blue sea, blue sky, white clouds and golden sun!” “It’s a peach of a day,” he tersely agreed. Marjorie’s declared appreciation of himself brought a half ironical smile to his lips. As usual, it was like that of a child, grateful for benefits. “What port?” he inquired briefly of her as he started the Oriole away from the pier. “No port,” was Marjorie’s prompt choice; “just a little run out to sea.” “Right-o.” Hal obediently headed the Oriole seaward. “Look at the crowd!” He indicated with a sweep of an arm the flock of white-winged sail boats and motor launches which thickly dotted the dimpling water. “Every fellow at the beach who owns a boat seems to be out with it today.” “It’s an ideal day for boating,” Marjorie found herself tritely echoing Hal’s opinion of the weather. Still she could not on the instant think of anything else to say. Her usual fund of gay, amusing conversation had deserted her. She was too honest of spirit to pretend that which she did not feel. “There’s no danger of a sudden squall, either.” Hal’s interest in the weather appeared to deepen. “This day is what I’d call an old reliable. Storms hardly ever blow up out of such honest-to-goodness blue skies as these.”