Somebody had his feet and he was being pulled head over toes into the
waiting water. He came up spluttering to see Martha laughing at him
from the edge of the raft.
He started to climb up and she dove off the further side. He went
after her. Much laughter and great sport. An excuse to grab her, here
and there, to feel the firm, warm smoothness of her, to quicken to the
challenge of her body.
In the glade the watchers sat, missing nothing.
Doak said, "I'm not sure the solid citizens approve of your maidenly
frolicking. They seem to be frowning our way."
"Studious types," Martha said, "but not necessarily disapproving."
Doak was silent, staring at the water.
"Bored?" Her voice was light.
He looked up. "I've never been less bored. Martha, I...." He shook his
head in vexation.
"It's a little early for a pitch," she said, "though you do give it a
warming amateur earnestness. Or wasn't it going to be a pitch?"