The horse was tied up securely, and the girls, a contrast of blonde and brunette, walked up the garden-path arm-in-arm.
“I have heard such things about you,” said the fair girl.
“But you should see him, my dear,” said the brown. “You would have risked a good deal to save him if you had been there—tall, strong, struggling in the sea, and so helpless.”
“You are brave, Amiria. It’s nonsense to pretend you don’t know it. All the town is talking about you.” The white face looked at the brown, mischievously. “And now that you have got him, my dear, keep him.”
Amiria’s laugh rang through the garden. “There is no hope for me, if you are about, Miss Rose Summerhayes,” she said.
“But wasn’t it perfectly awful? We heard you were drowned yourself.”
“Nonsense! I got wet, but that was all. Of course, if I was weak or a bad swimmer, then there would have been no hope. But I know every rock, every channel, where the sea breaks its force, and where it is strongest. There was no danger.”
“How many men?”
“Twenty-nine; and the one drowned makes thirty.”
“And which is the particular one, your treasure trove? Of course, he will marry you as soon as the water is out of his ears, and make you happy ever afterwards.”