It was, Winslow decided, as they rode away, the reaction from the high emotionalism of the night before. The chances were that since their talk in the moonlight, Louis had come to see the advantages of having a rich son-in-law. "He knows what I can do for him," Neale told himself, and began to breathe more freely than at any time since the news had come to him of Sally's flight.
Louis kept, however, strictly to his resolution not to talk about his daughter. He talked of everything else as they drove in Winslow's car to the Flat Island pier. It was a long, low pier used only by the hunters at this season, and by the fishermen all the year round. Reeds and rushes grew high on each side of it, and at the far end a small motor boat was tied. It was this boat which they took, leaving Winslow's car by the side of the road.
It was a wonderful morning. Even in the midst of his mental disturbance Winslow was aware of the beauty of the dawn—faint pearl at first like one of his Japanese prints, then with the light stealing in and washing the world with silver. The teal, at rest upon the waves, dotted the shore-line with black. Other birds flew up from the sedge. The boat slipped through water so still that their progress scarcely rocked the rushes. They left behind them a thin triangular wake, as sharp as an etching on steel.
They found great numbers of birds on the Island—yellow-legs, rail and reed-birds—lovely piping things, all of them, flitting like shadows over the sand. Even Winslow had to admit that it was a pity to spoil the
