"Permit me to help you," he said, "without embarrassing our
pilot."
"Oh! I want to wade, too," the woman exclaimed, enviously, as he
stepped out, "but--it's too pebbly."
She stood up and allowed him to gather her in his arms. Then for
the first time she felt his strength as her body leaned to his.
Slowly he picked his way ashore while she reclined in his embrace,
her arms about his neck, her smooth cheek brushing his. A faint,
intoxicating perfume she used affected him strangely, increasing
the poignant sense of her nearness; a lock of her hair caressed
him. When he deposited her gently upon her feet he saw her face
had gone white and that she was trembling.
"Did I hurt you?" he queried, quickly.
"Oh no!" she answered, but as she turned away he saw her breathe
as if for the first time since he had taken her up.
His own face was glowing as he waded back to fetch the lunch-
basket and his foot-gear. Under the circumstances he had done the
only natural, the only possible thing, yet it had queerly
perturbed them both. There was an artificial note in their voices
as they mounted to the village, and unconsciously they avoided
each other's glances.
A narrow, crooked street, fronted by old stone houses, opened
before them, and the many tints they had seen from a distance
became more pronounced.
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