“The water—drew me,” she answered faintly.
She was more than ever like a nymph, her eyes appealing in her white face under the gold of her hair.
“Aren’t you cold? Where are your wraps?” viewing her white dress.
She looked about helplessly. “I had a sweater. I must have dropped it somewhere. No, oh no, Mr. Bruce;” for Irving was taking off his coat.
“Nonsense! Of course I shall. How many layers do you suppose I need? See my sweater-vest?” He put her arms in his coat-sleeves and buttoned it close to her throat. “I’m glowing. I ran all the way.”
“How wonderful that you came!” She said it very quietly, apparently still under the spell of her moment of panic.
He kept his eyes upon her. “I dreamed about you. I dreamed that you were in danger.”
She looked at him curiously. “Is that why you came?”
“Perhaps. Who can tell?” His face had cleared, and he looked into hers, so still and lovely above the rough coat. “I am very angry with you, Rosalie.”
“Oh no, you can’t be. It looked very easy. See.”