The monosyllable was heavy with meaning--with any one of a dozen meanings, in truth. Maitland debated the most obvious. Did she conceive he had insinuated that it was his habit to ferry armfuls of attractive femininity over rocky fords by the light of a midnight moon? No matter. While he thought it out, she was consenting. Presently a slender arm was passed round his neck. Having awaited only that, he began to wade cautiously shorewards. The distance lessened perceptibly, but he contemplated the decreasing interval without joy, for all that she was of an appreciable weight. For all burdens there are compensations. Unconsciously, inevitably, her head sank toward his shoulder; he was aware of her breath, fragrant and warm, upon his cheek.... He stopped abruptly, cold chills running up and down his back; he gritted his teeth; he shuddered perceptibly. "What _is_ the matter?" she demanded, deeply concerned, but at pains not to stir. Maitland made a strange noise with his tongue behind clenched teeth. "_Urrrrgh,_" he said distinctly. She lifted her head, startled; relief followed, intense and instantaneous. "I'm sorry," he muttered humbly, face aflame, "but you ... tickled." "I'm--so--_sorry!_" she gasped, violently agitated. And laughed a low, almost a silent, little laugh, as with deft fingers she tucked away the errant lock of hair. "Ass!" Maitland told himself fiercely, striding forward. In another moment they were on dry land. The girl slipped from his arms and faced him, eyes dancing, cheeks crimson, lips a tense, quivering, scarlet line. He met this with a rueful smile. "But--thank you--but," she gasped explosively, "it was _so_ funny!" Wounded dignity melted before her laughter. For a time, there in the moonlight, under the scornful regard of the disabled motor-car's twin headlights, these two rocked and shrieked, while the silent night flung back disdainful echoes of their mad laughter. Perhaps the insane incongruity of their performance first became apparent to the girl; she, at all events, was the first to control herself. Maitland subsided, rumbling, while she dabbed at her eyes with a wisp of lace and linen. "Forgive me," she said faintly, at length; "I didn't mean to--" "How could you help it? Who'd expect a hulking brute like myself to be ticklish?" "You are awfully good," she countered more calmly. "Don't say that. I'm a clumsy lout. But--" He held her gaze inquiringly. "But may I ask--" "Oh, of course--certainly: I am--was--bound for Greenpoint-on-the-Sound--" "Ten miles!" he interrupted. The corners of her red lips drooped: her brows puckered with dismay. Instinctively she glanced toward the waterbound car.