"A warning maybe?" a break in the light tone.
"What kind of warning?"
It was her turn to look at the water--and to color? It seemed so,
faintly, under the tan. She said, "To warn me that you're married or
poor or uninterested." She looked up, smiling. "I'm such a simple
country girl."
"Yes," he said. "Sure." He looked over at the watchers. "Are they
friends of yours?"
"Yes." Her eyes wide and searching, her face and body taut. "Why?"
"Wondered. Am I being played for a patsy?"
Silence while she studied him. Silence while the raft gently rocked,
and the world. "Patsy?" she asked.
"Forget it. You have a great charm and an unholy animal attraction for
me, Martha Klein, and maybe we'd better get back to shore and have a
quiet cigarette."
They had a cigarette and a hot dog with a skin on it, the first Doak
had ever seen. They had grape pop and a few laughs. Fun in the sun at
Dubbinville, U.S.A. Wouldn't the gang at home get a belt out of this?
And where was June's bright metallic laughter being heard this golden
afternoon?
They walked back to town quietly, exertion-spent, sun-calmed. They
came up onto the porch, and Mrs. Klein looked from Martha's face to
Doak's and frowned--and sighed.
"Fun?" she asked.
"Wonderful," Doak said. "And Martha surprised me by being able to
swim. None of my other girls can swim a lick."
"Martha's no girl," Mrs. Klein said. "She's twenty-seven."