“Then,” said Babe, “I don’t believe you came as near being drowned as it looked.”
“Perhaps not,” said Betty, wearily, “but I’m awfully, awfully tired now.”
Eleanor and Mary flew to help her up to the house, reproaching themselves with not having hurried her in to rest sooner. As the procession of bedraggled figures took its way up the path, Helen Chase Adams made an astonishing announcement.
“Girls,” she began in awed, wondering tones. “Didn’t any of you notice? She called him John. Miss Hale called Dr. Eaton that, I mean, just now when she thanked him.”
“Did she?” asked Betty, absently. “I didn’t notice.”
“Yes,” cried Babe, eagerly, “she did. I remember now. I was so frightened about you at the time that I hardly heard, but she certainly said, ‘I can’t thank you enough, John.’ How do you suppose she happened to?”
The procession halted to consider the matter. “She was awfully rattled,” suggested Bob. “Perhaps it was just a slip of the tongue.”
“Why, of course it was a slip of the tongue,” agreed Mary, scornfully, “but just the same it shows how fast they’ve been getting on, when we thought they weren’t getting on at all. It’s amazing! You don’t know how relieved I am, Betty. I don’t believe we shall have to worry one bit more about the merry match-making.”
“I wonder if Miss Hale knows what she said,” Madeline speculated, as they went on up the steps. “If they have got to the calling-each-other-by-the-first-name stage so soon, it must be that they’ve been acting formal and offish to deceive us and put us off the scent. But after this they must see that it won’t be much use to pretend.”