"I don't know how to put it exactly. I mean, I don't want to offend you or anything. What I mean to say is--do you mind if I smoke? Thanks. I don't know why it is, but I always talk easier if I've got a cigarette going." He rolled one with great deliberation and care. Molly watched him admiringly. "You're the only man I've ever seen roll a cigarette properly, Jimmy," she said. "Everybody else leaves them all flabby at the ends." "I learned the trick from a little Italian who kept a clothing store in the Bowery. It was the only useful thing he could do." "Look at the rain!" Jimmy leaned forward. "Molly----" "I wonder if poor Mr. Wesson got indoors before it began. I do hope he did." Jimmy sat back again. He scowled. Every man is liable on occasion to behave like a sulky schoolboy. Jimmy did so. "You seem to spend most of your time thinking about Wesson," he said savagely. Molly had begun to hum a tune to herself as she watched the rain. She stopped. A profound and ghastly silence brooded over the canoe. "Molly," said Jimmy at last, "I'm sorry." No reply. "Molly." "Well?" "I'm sorry." Molly turned. "I wish you wouldn't say things like that, Jimmy. It hurts--from you." He could see that there were tears in her eyes. "Molly, don't!" She turned her head away once more. "I can't help it, Jimmy. It hurts. Everything's so changed. I'm miserable. You wouldn't have said a thing like that in the old days." "Molly, if you knew----" "It's all right, Jimmy. It was silly of me. I'm all right now! The rain has stopped. Let's go back, shall we?" "Not yet. For God's sake, not yet! This is my only chance. Directly we get back, it will be the same miserable business all over again; the same that it's been every day since I came to this place. Heavens! When you first told me that you were living at the abbey, I was absolutely happy, like a fool. I might have known how it would be. Every day there's a crowd round you. I never get a chance of talking to you. I consider myself lucky if you speak a couple of words to me. If I'd known the slow torture it was going to be, I'd have taken the next train back to London. I can't stand it. Molly, you remember what friends we were in the old days. Was it ever anything more with you? Was it? Is it now?" "I was very fond of you, Jimmy." He could hardly hear the words. "Was it ever anything more than that? Is it now? That was three years ago. You were a child. We were just good friends then. I don't want friendship now. It's not enough. I want you--_you_. You were right a moment ago. Everything _has_ changed. For me, at least. Has it for you? Has it for you, Molly?" On the island a thrush had begun to sing. Molly raised her head, as if to listen. The water lapped against the sides of the canoe. "Has it, Molly?" She bent over, and dabbled one finger in the water. "I--I think it has, Jimmy," she whispered. CHAPTER XII.