“Then I suppose we must have a boat,” said Lady Ingleby.
“An excellent suggestion,” replied Jim Airth, drily, “if a boat were to be had. But, unfortunately, we are two miles from the hamlet, and this is not a time when boats pass in and out; nor would they come this way. When I saw you, from the top of the cliff, I calculated the chances as to whether I could reach the boats, and be back here in time. But, before I could have returned with a boat, you would have—been very wet,” finished Jim Airth, somewhat lamely.
He looked at the lovely face, close to his shoulder. It was pale and serious, but showed no sign of fear.
He glanced at the point of cliff beyond. Twenty feet above its rocky base the breakers were dashing; but round that point would be safety.
“Can you swim?” asked Jim Airth, eagerly.
Myra’s calm grey eyes met his, steadily. A gleam of amusement dawned in them.
“If you put your hand under my chin, and count ‘one—two! one—two!’ very loud and quickly, I can swim nearly ten yards,” she said.
Jim Airth laughed. His eyes met hers, in sudden comprehending comradeship. “By Jove, you’re plucky!” they seemed to say. But what he really said was: “Then swimming is no go.”
“No go, for me,” said Myra, earnestly, “nor for you, weighted by me. We should never get round that eddying whirlpool. It would merely mean that we should both be drowned. But you can easily do it alone. Oh, go at once! Go quickly! And—don’t look back. I shall be all right. I shall just sit down against the cliff, and wait. I have always been fond of the sea.”
Jim Airth looked at her again. And, this time, open admiration shone in his keen eyes.