“An’ it’s not their boat!” pleaded the man in shirt-sleeves. “They got no right in that boat. It’s Lord Lamorna’s, that is.” “Good Lord, Johnny’s! And he’s kept it hidden from us!” Splash! “Where are you, Venice? Shirley?” “Napier, be careful!” cried Iris, laughed Iris.... “Are you gentlemen saying as you’re friends of Lord Lamorna’s?” asked the voice. “Friends!” said Hugo. “I won’t know him. We served together in Romano’s Riflemen, but now he’ll be jolly lucky if we don’t scuttle his boat. Owes me a fiver. Good-bye.” The river was warm, soft, quiet. Most un-English were the waters of the Thames that night, most Italianate. Never before had one understood the verity of that phrase “on the bosom of the waters.” From several yards away I could see the long shape of the motor-canoe. How Lamorna’s creditors would like to hear of that canoe! Hugo would blackmail him for his fiver. Dear Hugo. Suddenly the glow of Iris’s cigarette stabbed the darkness, and maybe that was her shadow there, and that the one foot in the water.... “Who’s that?” she gasped. I was anchored to her ankle. My hand could have gone twice round it. “Take care of them,” she whispered. “Dear, take care of them. Keep your eyes on that Venice child. She’s reckless. Quick, and catch them up. I rely on you somehow----” “You mustn’t, Iris. I am enemy to Iris Storm.” “Oh, friends and enemies! One relies on what people are in themselves, no matter what circumstances may make them feel.” “And circumstances, Iris--do they make a woman so heartless?” “Heartless! That’s a large word, rather. Heartless? But maybe I am tired of being unhappy. So maybe I walked into a garden and built a high wall round it. Oh, may be, may be! Dear friend, go after them now. I am nervous, they’re so young. By their voices, they seem to have gone very far....” But from the water the voices seemed to come from within a foot of one’s ear. They must, I thought, be straight ahead, towards the opposite bank. Swiftly a whisper cut the water near me, past me. “Young slacker!” came Guy’s murmur. But I, not for exercise was I on the bosom of the waters that night. I lazed, listening to the voices ahead, sharp and clear across the water. Dimly, softly, clammy-cold, a weed would brush one. The stars were like the lance-points of a mighty host marching down to the chastisement of the world. But the darkness baffled them, whilst I floated into the heart of it, I loitered. “Mind your head on this quay here, Venice! Venice! Hello, where’s Venice?” “Here. I say, what’s this place?” “Oh, my pretty dears, why isn’t one always in the water! I say, what’s this wooden thing?” “Looks like a landing-stage to me. What? I say, Hugo, what’s this place? What?” “Am I a graduate of Maidenhead, asking me? But let’s try the place, anyway.” “I’ve heard there’s a River-Night-Club arrangement about here. Very exclusive.” “We know. Excludes all who can’t crowd in. Come on. Me for wine.”