"No, this is quite warm," said John. "The wind has blown the surface water in. Wait a bit and you won't mind it."
He was treading water and steadying his companion. "Want the life-preserver off?" he laughed.
"Indeed I'd rather have it than the most gorgeous gown in Boston," she replied breathlessly, her spirits rising as she felt the strength of his arms. "Naught shall part me from it. Tell me what to do and I'll do it."
Edna swam around them with nonchalant, sidelong strokes, while Dunham went through the customary directions to the novice. She had been splashing valiantly for some minutes when Miss Lacey, forsaking her point of lookout, crept gingerly, with fear for her grenadine, to the edge of the rocks.
"Children," she called in a hollow voice, "the people are returning from church."
"Well, what shall we do?" asked John. "Edna and I can stay under for a reasonable length of time, but I should be obliged to drown Miss Sylvia. Does the situation demand it?"
"Benny Merritt is coming," still more acutely. "He's very near!"
"Well, when he sees this pool he'll fly with such hair as he has," said John cheerfully.
"Oh," groaned Miss Martha, "I've so often told him it was wrong to swim on Sunday."
"Keep him," cried Edna; "I want him. We're coming out, anyway."