After an irresolute, unhappy pause, he turned to go-- He went straight to Joan.

She was standing with her eyes shut and both hands on her heart, as white as a white rose.

She looked like a young slim tree that had been struck by lightning.
"Joan," he said, "Joan," and touched her arm.

There was no answer.
"Joan," he said, "Joany." And with a little sob she tottered forward.
He caught her, blazing with anger that she had been so hurt, inarticulate with indignation and a huge sympathy, and with the one strong desire to get her away from that place, picked her up in his arms,--a dead delicious weight,--and carried her down the incline of sand and undergrowth to his car, put her in ever so gently, got in himself, backed the machine out, turned it and drove away.
And Tootles, breathing hard and shaking, stood on the edge of the stoop, and with tears streaming down her face, watched the car become a speck and disappear.
XI The sun had gone down, and the last of its lingering glory had died before the yawl managed to cajole her way back to her mooring.
Dinner was ready by the time the hungry threesome, laughing and talking, arrived at the cottage.

Howard, spoiling for a cocktail, made for the small square dining-room, and Irene, waving her hand to Tootles, cried out, "Cheero, dearie, you missed a speedy trip, I don't think," and took her into the house to tidy up in the one bathroom.
Martin drew up short on the edge of the stoop, listened and looked about, holding his breath.