"I expected that," he said cheerfully. "Our scow is turning into a rain-barrel, Marette. Unless I bail out, we'll soon be flooded."
He reached for his slicker and put it on. "It won't take me long to throw the water overboard," he added. "And while I'm doing that I want you to take OFF your wet things and tuck yourself into bed. Will you, Gray Goose?"
"I'm not tired, but if you think it is best--" Her hand touched his arm.
"It is best," he said, and for a moment he bent over her until his lips touched her hair.
Then he seized a pail, and went out into the rain.