"Stop!" she cried. "It's me!"
He ceased to row on the instant, but the boat shot on. She saw the concern in his face as he brought it back. His black head shone wet in the sunlight. He was evidently returning from a bathe himself.
"It's all right," smiled Chris. "Are you in a great hurry? I wondered if you would tow me a little way. I've come too far, and I'm just a tiny bit tired."
He brought the boat near, and shipped his oars. "I will row you to the shore with pleasure, mademoiselle," he said.
"No, no," she said. "Just throw me a rope, that's all."
"But I have no rope, mademoiselle."
He leaned down to her as she swam alongside; but Chris still hung back, with laughing eyes upraised. "You will capsize in a minute, and that won't help either of us. Really, I don't think I will come out."
But she gave him her hand, nevertheless.
His fingers closed upon it in a warm clasp that seemed very sure of itself. He smiled down at her. "I think otherwise, mademoiselle."
She found it impossible to resist him, and so yielded with characteristic briskness of decision. "Very well, if you will let me dive from the boat afterwards. Hold tight, preux chevalier! One—two—three!"