"But the colour won't be nearly so bright after this bath," Barbara suggested; then added persuasively, "And really, you know, she took a long time over it. Couldn't you reach it easily from that boat—the ferry is so near now, and it would drive her distracted to see the roses churned up by the paddle-wheels."
The Englishman looked from the agitated Frenchwoman to the blots of colour on the water, that were becoming pale and shapeless; then he moved lazily towards the boat. Just as he was getting into it he looked back at Barbara.
"She won't embrace me—will she?" he asked. "If so——"
"Oh, no," Barbara assured him. "Hand it up to her on the end of the oar."
"Well," he said, unshipping one, "it is against my conscience to save anything so hideous. But the fault lies with you, and as you will probably go on seeing it, you will have punishment enough."
A few minutes later Mademoiselle Thérèse received the sodden hat with rapture, anxiously counting over the hat-pins, while the French youth, with some relief, laced up his boot again.
"How noble!" mademoiselle exclaimed. "How kind! Your countryman too, Miss Barbara! Where is he that I may thank him?"
"If you linger you will miss the ferry," Barbara interposed. "See, here it is, mademoiselle," and her companion reluctantly turned from the pursuit of the stranger to go on board, clasping her hat in triumph. Barbara thought, as she followed her, that if the fastidious rescuer had but seen her joy in her recovered treasure, he would have felt rewarded for his exertions in saving a thing so ugly.
[1] Riding-School.