tween them was traversed. Alan had a vague impression of springing to the gunwale of the boat close beside them—of an indignant native outcry—of Mark ahead of him, the box in his grasp. And the next instant warm flesh-and-blood arms were around them both.
"You mustn't! We're too dirty!" Mark heard himself saying, marveling all the while at his commonplace remark, as though he had seen Jane only an hour ago. But it was Jane's own voice that cried:
"You're not dirty. I don't care! Oh, we're not any of us dreaming, are we?"
Things became incoherent. A lump of silver was tossed to the gaping master of the boys' boat, and he presently slipped into a backwater to head round for Changhow. And Mr. Bolliver's launch was ordered to turn around and make back to Shanghai as fast as possible.
"I'm so tired of trying to figure things out," Mark said, holding his head. "Oh, really, this is the worst of all—it can't be true."
But Jane was gazing, sober-eyed, at a canvas-covered box.
