‘I’d throw myself into that brook this minute, and never come out again.’
‘Oh, you wicked boy!’ she cried, but her eyes sparkled with triumph. She quenched the sparkle. ‘It is true; and after that piece of wickedness, it’s truer than ever.’
Paul rose to his feet; his face was white, and his eyes stared as they had done when she had just rescued him.
‘Good-bye, May,’ he said.
‘Good-bye,’ she answered coolly.
‘You’re never goin’ to be friends any more, May?’
‘No,’ she said, but rose to her feet with a shriek, for Paul had taken two swift paces, and had plunged back into the brook, clothes and all. ‘Paul!’ she shrilled after him. ‘Paul! Don’t ee drown. Don’t ee now. Don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t ee!’
Paul stood shoulder-deep in the stream, and she besought him from the bank with clasped hands and frightened eyes.
‘Goin’ to be friends,’ said Paul grimly.
‘Yes, yes, yes!’ she cried. ‘Come out, do, there’s a dear!’