Alexander, lying on his back and kicking the water gently with his heels, appeared to address the sky. "I thought you had two girls."
"So I have. Oh, I see your point." He slipped into the water again, made three strokes, and found he could touch bottom. "It's shallower here."
"No," said Alexander; "I really thought she might have died, or something."
"I'm very fond of her. Alexander, this water's very cold. I think we ought not to stay too long. But I admit that Theresa does seem more akin to me. I hope I have not let Grace know it. You were right to reproach me."
"I didn't mean to—at least, I hope I didn't mean to."
"You must not think I do not care for Grace, but Theresa—well, Theresa has all the gifts I wanted when I was young. Have you a towel?"
"What were those? No, no towel; the shirt does. What were those gifts?" he was obliged to ask again.
"You haven't seen her. If you saw her, you would understand. I'll bring a picture of her next time I come. I wish you'd get out, my boy; it's very cold."
"I'm used to it. All the year round I bathe here."
"But, besides, she's clever. She'll make a name."