"Oh, yes, you know some lovely poetry, Blan, but I’m afraid I’m not poetical. I like the things they say in songs,—things I can understand. I’d rather hear slang—" "’The illegitimate sister of poetry—’" She looked up at him blankly. Then she sighed and turned her eyes off to the darkling water. "No one ever made love to suit me, somehow—men are queer—they’re so blind—they seem to know so little about the things that mean a lot to a woman." She shivered. "It’s getting chilly, isn’t it. I’m cold." "Shall I get you a wrap?" She took his arm and placed it about her shoulder. "That’ll do," she said. "Fancy, you are adorable—you’re absolutely complete. You’re unique—you’re a nonpareille!" "I’d rather be a peach," she confessed, snuggling closer. "You are, Fancy—a clingstone! I’d like to kiss you to death." "Now, _that’s_ the stuff!" "I’m sorry you don’t appreciate my compliments," he remarked, after this little episode. "I’m afraid I don’t. I’m sorry I’m not intellectual, Blan, but I’d rather have you call me a ’damn fool’ if you said it lovingly, than have you say pretty things I can’t understand." "All right, then, you’re a damn fool!" She laughed happily. "Thank you, Blan, dear, that was nice! I believe you’re improving." "Oh, if you prefer Anglo-Saxon, I’ll call you a piece, a jade, baggage, harridan, hussy, minx—" "Yes, but you must put ’dear’ at the end, you know, to show that you’re not in earnest." "I’ll try to remember." Fancy went on: "It’s wonderful to be out here, all alone with you on the water, cut off from everything. It satisfies me gorgeously—it’s like the taste of ice-cream to a hungry little kid. I remember how I used to long for it. I was awfully poor and lonely once. I believe I’m happy now. What do you think it is, Blan, you or the coffee? Don’t you want to hold my hand? Let’s just sit here and forget things—but I haven’t very much to forget, have I? I’d like to read books and know some of the things you do—but it’s too late now—I guess I’ll always be ign’ant." "Oh, I’ll teach you all the things you want to know," he said condescendingly. "You’re good material and you’d learn quickly. I could make a wonder out of you with a little training. I’ll give you lessons if you like." "I accept," said Fancy Gray. Then she added: "I don’t expect you’ll love me very long, Blan, but you must make up for it by loving me as much as you can. That’s where I can teach you. Men aren’t faithful like women are—I’m glad I’m a woman, Blan." "I’m glad you are," he echoed. The night fell, and they began reluctantly to make preparations for their departure. While Cayley was busy in the kitchen, packing up a basket to be returned, Fancy went into the little white state-room to do her hair and put on her wrap.