She felt suddenly that this man's past contained something of loss and disappointment of which he could not lightly speak to a mere casual acquaintance.
With the quickness of impulse characteristic of her, she smiled sympathetic comprehension.
"And you won't even tell me your name ?" she said.
He bent again to the pole, and she saw his teeth shine in the moonlight.
"I think my friend told you one of my names," he said.
"Oh, it's much too commonplace," she protested.

"Quite half the men I know are called Jack." And then for the first time she heard him laugh--a low, exultant laugh that sent the blood in a sudden rush to her cheeks.
"Shall we go back now ?" she suggested, turning her face away.
He obeyed her instantly, and the punt began to glide back through the ripples.
No further word passed between them till, as they neared the house-boat, the high, keen notes of a flute floated out upon the tender silence.
Hilary glanced up sharply, the moonlight on her face, and saw a group of men in a punt moored under the shadowy bank.

One of them raised his hand and sent a ringing salutation across the water.
Hilary nodded and turned aside.

There was annoyance on her face--the annoyance of one suddenly awakened from a dream of complete enjoyment.
Her companion asked no question.

He was bending vigorously to his work.
But she seemed to consider some explanation to be due to him.
"That," she said, "is a man I know slightly.