"Do you know," he said, "when people take the air like that, I always have to hold on to 'em tight till they've had all they want. It's damn' cheek on my part, as you were just going to remark. But, my girl, it's easier than mucking about in a dark sea looking for 'em after they've lost their balance."
He had led her to the shelter. She sat down rather helplessly, wondering if it would be possible to conceal her identity from him since it was evident that so far he had not recognized her.
He stood in front of her, squarely planted, his hand still locked upon her wrist. She had known him from the first word he had spoken, and, remembering those startling lynx eyes of his, she felt decidedly uneasy. She was sure they could see in the dark.
She spoke after a moment with slight hesitation. "I shouldn't have lost my balance. And if I had meant to jump over, as you imagined, I shouldn't have stood so long thinking about it."
"Sure you're not thinking about it now?" he said.
"Quite sure," she answered.
He bent down, and she was sure--quite sure--that his eyes scrutinized her and took in every detail.
The next moment he released her wrist also. "All right, my girl," he said. "I believe you. But--don't do it again! Accidents happen, you know. You might have had one then; and I should still have had to flounder around looking for you."
Something in his tone made her want to smile, and yet she felt so sure--so sure--that he knew her all the time. And she wanted to resent his familiarity at the same moment. For if he knew her, it was rank presumption to address her so.
She rose at length and faced him with such dignity as she could muster. "I am obliged to you," she said, "but I fail to see why your responsibility should extend so far. If I had fallen over, the chances are that you could never have found me--or saved me if you had."