A very draggled, agitated pair of girls made their way up the shrubbery walk to the house, leaving a wet trail to mark their path. Adeline tied up the Peveril before she followed them.
"I'm sure nobody can blame us," she remarked to Hilary.
Loveday and Diana, warmed, dried, and clad in fresh garments, scolded by Miss Todd, and cosseted by Miss Carr, the heroines of a real adventure, and for the moment the centre of interest in the school, discussed the event in private.
"I've explained, but Adeline doesn't see it," said Diana. "She says the boat wasn't as bad as all that, and they were in no real danger, and that I did a very silly, idiotic, foolhardy thing. She doesn't understand I was trying to save her life. But I was!"
"I know," nodded Loveday. "I don't think somehow, though, that Adeline's the kind of girl whom you could ever make understand. Why do you lavish all this love on her, Di? She's not worth it."
Diana was plaiting her skirt into little gathers. She looked at her fingers and not at Loveday.
"I did like her so! But it's all ended now—drowned in the water, I think. She doesn't care twopence about me. Well! If she doesn't, no more do I! She may go to Hong-Kong as far as I'm concerned."
Loveday glanced anxiously at her friend. There was a suspicious tremble in the usually cheerful voice. Were those drops shining on the long eyelashes?
"It takes a good deal of riddling before we sort out the wheat and the chaff in our friendships," ventured Loveday.
"You're 'honest grain', at any rate!" said Diana, winking rapidly, as she rose and ended the conversation.