“But you shouldn’t bathe here, you know. It’s dangerous. The south beach is the proper place.”
“I’m rather a good swimmer. I’m not afraid.”
“That doesn’t matter. You oughtn’t to do it. You might get drowned. I’m awfully serious. I wish you wouldn’t.”
She seemed amused at my concern for her. Yet I knew she liked it. Her eyes were saying to me, “Oh, you nice, funny boy! You’ve known me less than an hour. If I were to drown, what difference would it make to you?” She looked down at Dorrie. “If Vi were to go out there, and sink beneath a wave, and never come back again, would Dorrie mind?”
“You won’t,” said Dorrie; “don’t be thtupid.”
We talked about a good many things that morning as the wind blew, and the waves broke, and the sun climbed higher. I wanted to find out who she was, so that I might make certain of meeting her again.
“Do you live in Ransby?” I asked.
“No. We only arrived yesterday. I never was in England till a week ago. We’ve been traveling on the Continent. I wanted a place in which to be quiet. I heard someone in the hotel at which we stayed in London talking about Ransby. They said it was old-world and bracing—that was why I came.”
“I’ve never been out of England in my life,” I said; “I’d like to break loose some time.”
“Where would you go?”