Reginald's eyes were blazing with admiration.
"Oh, it wasn't much of a swim," she said carelessly. "Not over a hundred yards, I should say."
"But you risked your life, child!"
"Not at all. I can really swim, Reggy; you know that. Well, I got to him after a while, at any rate, and I found him in such a panic of fear that it was difficult to do anything for him."
She paused long enough to allow her glance to wander again toward the boatman. His symptoms were those of hysteria.
"Finally I managed to get him by the collar from behind," continued Rosalind calmly. "I had to choke him a little, I think. It wasn't very easy to get him to the launch, which had begun to drift, but we made it after a while. Then—"
Another inspection of Sam seemed to afford her satisfaction, for she smiled.
"Then it was a question of getting him aboard. He was in a complete funk; did nothing but cling to the boat and roll his eyes. I had to climb in myself and then drag him after me. And then—think of it, Reggy—he began to weep. That great, grown man shed tears like a child!"
Reginald surveyed the great, grown man with pity and contempt.
"That's all of it," added Rosalind. "It was just a question of running the boat to the island."