“It’s Iris,” said Guy. “Where are you, Iris? Here, I’m in the water. Hold on.” “Quick ... tired....” “But where’s Venice?” screamed Shirley. “All right, Iris has got her....” Iris’s whisper: “Call Napier back. Oh, dear....” “Naps! Naps!” “All right, coming.” “Hang on, Hugo!” said Guy from the water. “Iris coming. Pull, you fool. I’ve got Venice.” “Please, my foot....” “Hugo, don’t capsize the bloody boat!” sobbed Shirley. “Naps, here they are! Guy, give me Venice at once! Venice!” “All right, Guy.” Was that Venice’s voice? “I can manage....” “You’ve managed quite enough, you have!” said Hugo. “You all right, Iris?” Iris was lying panting somewhere in the canoe. Mostly on our flannels, I thought. But you couldn’t see a thing. We were on the quay, Hugo, Guy, and I. Then Napier came. A silent, phantom presence. “Don’t strike a match, any one,” Iris whispered. “I’m in my chemise ... what’s left of it....” A sob, a jumble, a cry: “Oh, God, Oh, God! I’m so glad to be back!” “Little donkey!” said Guy. “All right now, Venice?” “Hugo,” Iris called, very huskily, “where’s that champagne? Venice would like ... Child, must you breathe your last down my neck?” “You saved me!” sobbed Venice. “Yes, you did!” “Ssh!” “Ow, I was frightened!” “Like a mouse in the water. Poor Venice....” “Here’s another towel, Mrs. Storm,” said Shirley brusquely. Shirley would be a little jealous now of Venice liking Iris.... “Listen!” cried Venice into the night. “This woman saved me. Saved my life, she did! ‘Oi!’ said I, and there she was, quick as quick....” “But, Venice, you’re sitting on my only other stocking, and I’ve only got two!” “Pop!” said the champagne. “Have mine, please do! Like barefoot. Jimmy, I got such a bump on the head.” “How?” Guy asked dangerously. “Against the bridge, please....” “That’s only bump (a),” said Hugo kindly. “There’s still bump (b) coming to you, if I heard aright.” “You did,” said Guy. “You leave her alone!” snapped Shirley. “Venice?” Napier’s voice, a white, still voice. He was kneeling, beside me, peering into the canoe. “All right now, Venice?” “Yes, Naps.” A shy, uncertain voice that was. She was afraid. “You must thank Mrs. Storm for that....” Napier did not call on Iris’s name. Hugo chattered to cover the silence. I thought I heard Guy mutter something between his teeth. During the next few minutes Hugo’s dexterity with the champagne was a great relief. Dear Hugo. “Venice!” said Guy beside me, chill, queerly harsh. “Your health, Venice! You’ll need a good deal, if you go playing any more tricks like that.” Shirley was saying: “Here’s another towel, Mrs. Storm. Do have my stockings, please....” “Oh ... no, it’s quite all right, really. Please, really. But would you mind seeing if my shoes are anywhere there, by the steering-wheel thing?” Formal, like the voices of women in a drawing-room.