“Sponges!” said Frank. Priscilla winked at him. The statement about the sponges was obviously untrue. There is no sponge fishery in Rosnacree Bay. There never has been. Miss Rutherford, so to speak, intercepted Priscilla’s wink. “By sponges,” she said, “I mean----” “Won’t you sit down?” said Priscilla. She picked her stockings from the gunwale of the boat, leaving a clear space beside Miss Rutherford. “Bother!” she said, “the dye out of the purple clocks has run. That’s the worst of purple clocks. I half suspected it would at the time, but Sylvia Courtney insisted on my buying them. She said they looked chic. Would you care for anything to eat, Miss Rutherford?” “I’m nearly starved. That’s why I came over here. I thought you might have some food.” “We’ve lots,” said Priscilla. “Frank will give it to you. I’ll just step across and speak to Jimmy Kinsella. I want to hear about the baby.” “I’m afraid,” said Miss Rutherford, when Priscilla left them, “that your cousin doesn’t believe me about the sponges.” Frank felt deeply ashamed of Priscilla’s behaviour. The prefect in him reasserted itself now that he was in the presence of a grown-up lady. He felt it necessary to apologise. “She’s very young,” he said, “and I’m afraid she’s rather foolish. Little girls of that age----” He intended to say something of a paternal kind, something which would give Miss Rutherford the impression that he had kindly undertaken the care of Priscilla during the day in order to oblige those ordinarily responsible for her. A curious smile, which began to form at the corners of Miss Rutherford’s lips and a sudden twinkling of her eyes, stopped him abruptly. “I hope you’ll excuse my not standing up,” he said, “I’ve sprained my ankle.” “I’d like to get in and sit beside you if I may,” said Miss Rutherford. “Now for the food.” “There’s some cold tongue,” said Frank. “Capital. I love cold tongue.” “But--I’m afraid--” He fished it out from beneath the thwart, “--it may be rather grubby.” “I don’t mind that a bit.” “And--the fact is my cousin--it’s only fair to tell you--she bit it pretty nearly all over and----” Frank hesitated. He was an honourable boy. Even at the cost of losing Miss Rutherford’s respect he would not refrain from telling the truth, “And I bit it too,” he blurted out. “Then I suppose I may,” said Miss Rutherford. “I should like to more than anything. I so seldom get the chance.” She bit and munched heartily; bit again, and smiled at Frank. He began to feel more at his ease. “There are some biscuits,” he said. “The macaroons are finished, I’m afraid. But there are some cocoanut creams. I’m afraid they’re rather too sweet to go well with tongue.” “In the state of starvation I’m in,” she said, “marmalade would go with pea soup. Cocoanut creams and tongue will be simply delicious. Have you anything to drink?” “Only the juice of the tinned peaches.”