Iris and I marched slowly as the smoke of our cigarettes in the breathless night. She leaned on my arm, completely. “Foot hurts.” I wished she wouldn’t. I almost said, “don’t.” Her touch confounded, confused. She was tangible, until she touched you. She was finite, until she touched you. She was a woman, until she touched you. Then she became woman, and you water. She became a breath of womanhood clothed in the soft, delicious mystery of the flesh. Touching her, you touched all desire. She was impersonal and infinite, like all desire. She was indifferent to all but her desire, like all desire. She was a breath carved in flesh, like all desire. She was the flower of the plant of all desire. Desire is the name of the plant that Lilith sowed, and every now and then it puts out the flower that in the choir of flowers is the paramour of the mandrake. “You are very silent, Iris....” “Yes ... yes? Sometimes.... I don’t know, but it’s as though the stars make me nervous, sometimes. They’re so hopeless. They sneer, I can’t help thinking. But are we going right?” The darkness ahead stirred with tiny flames and exultant voices. Venice and Shirley! “I say, lovely boat!” cried Shirley. “Where, Shirley?” I called. “Between you and me,” Iris whispered, “I wouldn’t mind sitting. Foot hurts....” “Come straight on. Don’t go right or left. River.” “It’s not a boat at all!” cried Venice. “It’s a lovely motor-canoe. Oh, chaps!” “Ssh!” Guy’s voice. Who cared? Not Shirley. “And cushions! And steering-wheel! And everything....” “Naps, this way! Here you are! Isn’t it a beauty?” “Hope no one gets drowned,” Iris whispered. “Every one’s cold sober.” “But weeds and cramps and things....” “And currents,” came Guy’s murmur from somewhere just above our heads. “But it’s safe as houses as long as we keep in a line between this bank and the other. Had inquiries made to-day.” “Sensible Guy!” “Best way to mend things is to stop them, Iris.” Our eyes pricked by the wicked little match-lights, we could just make out at our feet the shape of a long motor-canoe and, at one end of it, a jumble of figures. They seemed to be fighting, those figures, bent this way and that in heroic attitudes. The canoe twisted and rocked frantically on its moorings. Fierce whispers, wicked words.... “Steady a moment,” said Guy, just beside us. But they weren’t steady any moments, Venice and Shirley and Hugo, whilst Napier helped them by getting in their way. They were up to something, those frantic figures. “Steady, I said!” said Guy sharply. That learnt them. Some one in the boat lit a match, and the water shone like black silk. I saw Napier’s white face looking towards us, white face, dark eyes. Love-lost, dreaming.... “Now look here,” said Guy gently. “Just leave those sickening ropes alone. You, Venice, you!” “But, Guy! We must get----” “Must nothing. It’s not our boat, Venice, and I never break more than one law a night.” “But--Oh, damn the man!”