"And of course you'll return the compliment? My name's Harry. It's a perfectly normal name, so you needn't blush." Mr. Jonas Pretty interrupted any embarrassment with the news that the whiting were biting. Presently the boat was in a confusion of fish. As fast as they dropped the lines they had to tug them in again with half a dozen iridescent victims squirming and leaping and flapping on the hooks, and in half an hour the bottom of the boat was aglow with silver fire. "Well, I think we've caught enough," said Harry Vibart. "And I mustn't keep you out late, Jasmine. Better sail back now, Skipper." "Aye, aye, sir." Mr. Pretty shouted a number of unintelligible and raucous commands, and the breeze immediately died away. "Lost that nice little wind we had," he grumbled. "That means a bit of a pull back. You wouldn't like to stay out all night, sir, with the whiting biting so lovely? There's a lot of gentlemen likes to do that and come back with the sunrise." "No, no, this lady has to get home." Mr. Pretty shook his head reproachfully at such a lack of adventurous spirit. "It'll be a long pull back, sir." Indeed the lights of Spaborough did look very far away. "Can't be helped. We must get back. How long will it take?" "About a couple of hours, sir." "What?" "We'd better steer for the harbour." Jasmine did not blame Harry--in the excitement of pulling up her line she had fallen easily into calling him by his Christian name--for the flight of the wind. "I say, it's awfully sporting of you to be so decent about it," he said, turning her behaviour into an excuse to take her hand. "It's not your fault." During the long pull back to the harbour Harry Vibart quoted no more poetry; indeed he hardly seemed to notice the moonlight, so deeply was he engaged in telling Jasmine all about his early life and his present life, and what he should do when he inherited his uncle's title and estate. "Of course I shall have to get married." "Of course," she agreed. They looked at each other for a brief instant; but almost simultaneously they looked away again and began to count the whiting. Soon afterward they reached the harbour. The clocks of Spaborough were striking the apprehensive hour of one when Jasmine and Harry Vibart, each carrying a large bunch of fish, disembarked at the pier of the old harbour. "I'm afraid that they really will be very cross," said Jasmine. "But never mind, I've had a glorious evening, and I've enjoyed myself, more than I ever have since I left Sirene." "They might be cross if we hadn't got these whiting," Harry pointed out. "But you can't go against evidence like this. I don't see a carriage anywhere, do you?" "Perhaps it's too late."