"Blessed unmanliness!" whispered Pen, brooding over him. Presently she jerked her head up as if she needed more air, more light. The moon shone in her wet face. It was transfigured. He was still humbled over her knees. "This isn't the way I wanted to come to the woman I love," he said bitterly. "I've nothing to offer you ... less than nothing ..." "Do you want to buy me or to love me," she murmured with soft reproach. He scarcely heard her. "It is impossible for you to respect a man who is as dependent on you as a baby!" Pen put her cheek in his hair. "Foolish one! What has respect to do with it?" "You can only be sorry for me!" Her hands turned over and found his face. "Foolish! Foolish! Foolish!" she murmured. "You must have got your idea of loving out of books! ... How selfish you are!" He raised his head, struck by the word. Her voice deepened. "Don't you understand how sweet it has been for me to work for you; to lie for you; to steal food out of the house? Why do you begrudge it to me? ... Oh, sometimes I could almost wish you _had_ committed a murder so I could go with you and be disgraced with you!" "Pen! ... Pen!" he cried amazed and full of delight. Then added quaintly in a voice of reproof: "You're talking wildly!" Pen laughed deep in her throat. She slipped off the boat to the ground beside him, where she could wreathe her arms about him, and hide her face on his shoulder. "You're only a man," she murmured laughing and passionate. "What do you know about love? ... Ah, but only let me love you and I will be content!" "You'll see whether I can love or not," he said, piqued. "Keep telling me," she murmured. "My ears are starving for it!" "I can't tell you to order," he grumbled, manlike. "It must come of itself." But she knew from the timbre of his voice, from his arms, from the adoring droop of his head, and was content. He held her a little away from him that he might see her better. Pen yielded up her soul to him through her eyes. "Good God! how beautiful you are!" he whispered sharply. Their lips came together. They achieved forgetfulness. Even lovers must come back to earth. Pen drew away from him. "The dawn will surprise us," she murmured. He consulted his watch. "Only half-past two." "We must go." "Oh, no! no!" "Well, we must begin to go," she amended. "I can't leave you quickly." She sat on the ground as Diana must have sat, her legs folded against her, her waist curving to preserve her equilibrium, both round arms up and her fingers busy with her hair. "How beautiful you are so," he murmured. "Don't move!" She laughed. "Help me up," she commanded, extending him her hands. As he pulled her to her feet he was for enfolding her again, but she put her hands up between them. "Not now! I want to get away from you a little." "Pen!" he cried reproachfully. She laughed. "Dearest! I just mean you have numbed me ... I must get away from you in order to realize you."