"You are quite right in one way," she said; "an unconventional encounter
like this has no significance--not enough to dignify it with any effort
toward indifference. But until I began to reprove man in the abstract, I
really had not very much interest in you as an individual."

And, as he said nothing: "I might better have been in the beginning what
you call 'human'--found the situation mildly amusing--and it
_is_--though you don't know it! But"--she hesitated--"the acquired
instinct operated automatically. I wish I had been more--human; I can
be." She raised her eyes; and in them glimmered her first smile, faint,
yet so charming a revelation that the surprise of it held him
motionless at his oars.

"Have I paid the tribute you claim?" she asked. "If I have, may I not go
overboard at my convenience?"

He did not answer. She laid both arms along the gunwales once more,
balancing herself to rise.

"We are near enough now," she said, "and the fog is quite gone. May I
thank you and depart without further arousing you to psychological
philosophy?"

"If you must," he said; "but I'd rather row you in."

"If I must? Do you expect to paddle me around Cape Horn?" And she rose
and stepped lightly onto the bow, maintaining her balance without effort
while the boat pitched, fearless, confident, swaying there between sky
and sea.