instantaneous.

"I'm sorry," he muttered humbly, face aflame, "but you ... tickled."

"I'm--so--_sorry!_" she gasped, violently agitated. And
laughed a low, almost a silent, little laugh, as with deft fingers
she tucked away the errant lock of hair.

"Ass!" Maitland told himself fiercely, striding forward.

In another moment they were on dry land. The girl slipped from his
arms and faced him, eyes dancing, cheeks crimson, lips a tense,
quivering, scarlet line. He met this with a rueful smile.

"But--thank you--but," she gasped explosively, "it was _so_
funny!"

Wounded dignity melted before her laughter. For a time, there in
the moonlight, under the scornful regard of the disabled
motor-car's twin headlights, these two rocked and shrieked,
while the silent night flung back disdainful echoes of their mad
laughter.

Perhaps the insane incongruity of their performance first became
apparent to the girl; she, at all events, was the first to control
herself. Maitland subsided, rumbling, while she dabbed at her eyes
with a wisp of lace and linen.

"Forgive me," she said faintly, at length; "I didn't mean to--"