I was awakening rapidly. I looked out into the mist and shook my head. “I am afraid your canoe has gone,” I said. And then, as the thought occurred to me for the first time, “You're not hurt, I hope? I dragged you aboard here rather roughly, I am afraid.” “No, I am not hurt. But--where are we?” “I don't know, exactly. Somewhere near the mouth of the bay, that is all I can be sure of. You, are certain you are not hurt? You must be wet through.” She got upon her feet and, leaning over the Comfort's rail, gazed about her. “I am all right,” she answered. “But don't you know where you are?” “Before the fog caught me I was nearly abreast the Point. I was running at half speed up the channel when I heard your hail. Where were you?” “I was just beyond your boat house, out in the middle of the bay. I had come out for a paddle before dinner. I did not notice the fog until it was all about me. Then I think I must have been bewildered. I thought I was going in the direction of home, but I could not have been--not if you were abreast the Point. I must have been going directly out to sea.” She shivered. “You are wet,” I said, anxiously. “There is a storm coat of mine in the locker forward. Won't you put that about your shoulders? It may prevent your taking cold.” “No, thank you. I am not wet, at all; or, at least, only my feet and the bottom of my skirt. I shall not take cold.” “But--” “Please don't worry. I am all right, or shall be as soon as I get home.” “I am very sorry about your canoe.” “It doesn't matter.” Her answers were short now. There was a different note in her voice. I knew the reason of the change. Now that the shock and the surprise of our meeting were over she and I were resuming our old positions. She was realizing that her companion was the “common fellow” whose “charming and cultivated society” was not necessary to her happiness, the fellow to whom she had scornfully offered “congratulations” and whom she had cut dead at the Deans' that very afternoon. I made no more suggestions and expressed no more sympathy. “I will take you home at once,” I said, curtly. “If you please.” That ended conversation for the time. She seated herself on the bench near the forward end of the cockpit and kept her head turned away from me. I, with one hand upon the wheel--a useless procedure, for I had no idea where the launch might be headed--looked over the rail and listened to the slow and regular beat of the engine. Suddenly the beat grew less regular. The engine barked, hiccoughed, barked again but more faintly, and then stopped altogether. I knew what was the matter. Before I reached the gasolene tank and unscrewed the little cover I knew it. I thrust in the gauge stick and heard it strike bottom, drew it out and found it, as I expected, dry to the very tip. I had trusted, like an imbecile, to Lute. Lute had promised to fill that tank “the very first thing,” and he had not kept his promise.