Birkin pushed himself off, and veered clumsily in the pond.

Luckily the punt drifted so that he could catch hold of a willow bough, and pull it to the island.
'Rather overgrown,' he said, looking into the interior, 'but very nice.
I'll come and fetch you.

The boat leaks a little.' In a moment he was with her again, and she stepped into the wet punt.
'It'll float us all right,' he said, and manoeuvred again to the island.
They landed under a willow tree.

She shrank from the little jungle of rank plants before her, evil-smelling figwort and hemlock.

But he explored into it.
'I shall mow this down,' he said, 'and then it will be romantic--like Paul et Virginie.' 'Yes, one could have lovely Watteau picnics here,' cried Ursula with enthusiasm.
His face darkened.
'I don't want Watteau picnics here,' he said.
'Only your Virginie,' she laughed.
'Virginie enough,' he smiled wryly.