Peter looked knowing. “The first thing she'd do if she knew she was going to drown, would be to take off her shoes and stockings.” The golden woman pinched the girl's cheek. “Hulloa! Secrets already!--But I don't like Lorie's idea for disguising us. Let's see what we can do with five minutes' shopping.” When they rowed up to _The Skylark_ they were met by a mysterious silence. Lifting out their parcels, they tiptoed into the cabin. Harry was bending over a table-cloth, with a tooth-brush in his hand and a bottle of blacking at his elbow. The Faun Man was melting the bottoms of candles and making them stick to the bottoms of empty jam-jars. “What are you doing?” They both looked up. “I'm getting the illuminations ready,” said the Faun Man. “And I'm making our flag,” said Harry, scrubbing hard at the table-cloth. “Blacking's awful stuff; it's so smudgy.” They crowded round him to inspect his handiwork and read: BILL WILLOW'S IMPROMPTU TROUPE OF ECCENTRIC MINSTRELS NO FUN WITHOUT FOLLY ENVY THE POOR MAD The Faun Man affixed his last candle. “Now, then, you crazy people, rehearsal's in five minutes. Let's fortify our tummies.” Behind the house-boat the sun was setting; in patches, where water lay most still among rushes, the river shone blood-red. Sometimes, beneath the window, they heard the dip of oars and a boat drifted past. They were miles from reality, in a hushed and painted world. They had become little children for the moment, though the Faun Man had called it “being vulgar.” They had become immensely serious over a thing which didn't matter. There were the words of the songs to learn, and then the tunes. After that there were the cretonnes to cut out and run together into burlesque night-gowns, extremely ample so as to cover their proper dresses. The golden woman had surprised a prim widow in Hart Street by asking for “The ugliest materials you have in your shop.” She had met with success; no materials could have been uglier. One had a straw-colored background, strewn with gigantic poppies; across another floated, in a kind of sky-blue gravy, the unbarbered heads of bodyless angels. The Faun Man and Peter, when their needles lost the thread, gave up sewing and fastened theirs together with paper pins. And all the while beneath the absurdity of it there was an atmosphere of tenderness, as if folly had brought them all nearer. The Faun Man kept watching the golden woman; and Cherry the Faun Man; and Peter, Cherry. As for Harry, he was the only one whose eyes were free to take in everybody. When night had fallen they slipped on their masks and stepped into the punt. Harry took the pole and pushed off from _The Skylark_. The Faun Man sat next to the golden woman, humming snatches of song beneath his breath, to which he picked out an accompaniment on the mandolin. She lay back gazing up at him.