"Let's go on down!" she said, a little adventurous quality in her tone. She ran lightly down the steps, Marley after her. "Won't you take cold?" he asked, bending close to her. She looked up and laughed. They were walking on, unconsciously making their way toward the edge of the little lake. Marley felt the white form floating there beside him and a happiness, new, unknown before, came to him. They were on the edge of the little lake. Before them the water lay, dark now, and smooth. A small stage was moored to the shore and a boat was fastened to it. They could hear the light lapping of the water that barely stirred the boat. Presently Lavinia ran out on to the stage. She gave a little spring, and rocked it up and down; then smiled up at Marley like a child venturing in forbidden places. Marley stepped carefully on to the stage. "Isn't it a perfect night?" Lavinia said, looking up at the dark purple sky, strewn with all the stars. Marley looked at her white throat. "The most beautiful night I ever knew!" he said. He spoke solemnly, devoutly, and Lavinia turned and gazed on him. Marley touched the boat with the toe of his shoe. "We might row," he said almost timidly. "Could we?" inquired Lavinia. "If we may take the boat." "Oh, of course--anybody may. Can you row?" Marley laughed. He had rowed in the college crew on the old Olentangy at Delaware. His laugh was a complete answer to Lavinia. She approached the boat, and Marley bent over and drew it alongside the stage. "Get in," he said. It was good to find something he could do. He helped her carefully into the boat, and held it firmly until she had arranged herself in the stern, her feet against the cleats, and her white skirts tucked about her. Then he took his seat, shipped the oars and shoved off. He swept the boat out into the deep water, and rowed away up the lake. He rowed precisely, feathering his oars, that she might see how much a master he was. They did not speak for a long time. First one, then the other, of the little islands swept darkly by; the water slapped the bow of the boat as Marley urged it forward. The lights of the pavilion on the shore twinkled an instant, then went out behind the trees. They could hear the distant mellow thrumming of the guitar and the tinkle of the mandolin. "Are you too cool?" he asked presently. "Oh, no, not at all!" said Lavinia. "Hadn't you better take my coat?" Marley persisted. The idea of putting his coat about her thrilled him. "You'll need it," she said. "No, I'll be warm rowing." She shook her head, and smiled. They drifted on. Still came the distant strumming of the guitar and the tinkle of the mandolin. Marley thought of the young people dancing, and then, noting Lavinia's silence, he asked, out of the doubt that was his one remaining annoyance: "Wouldn't you rather be back there dancing?" "No, no!" she answered softly. "I'm ashamed of myself." "Why?" She started a little.