"Wait there!" exclaimed Robert as she reached the shrubs.
"What? Are you trying to tell me where I can go or not go? I—YI!"
The shriek was followed by a tremendous splash. Robert stepped forward in time to be spattered by part of the flying spray. It was cold.
Naturally, being drawn from the brook, he reflected. Oh, well, the sun will warm it tomorrow.
There was a frenzy of thrashing and splashing in the dimly lighted water at his feet, accompanied by coughs and spluttering demands that he "do something!"
Robert reached down with one hand, caught his hostess by the wrist, and heaved her up to solid ground.
"My robots are digging you a little swimming hole," he told her. "They brought the water from the brook by a trench. You can finish it with concrete or plastics later; it's only fifteen by thirty feet."
He expected some sort of acknowledgment of his efforts, and peered at her through the gloom when none was forthcoming. He thus caught a glimpse of the full-swinging slap aimed at his face. He tried to duck.
There was another splash, followed by more floundering about.