"That's just it! That's just what he did. He climbed in, and didn't say a word. I at once told him to get out. That is what we talked about entirely. Then at last he got out, in--in an angry way--shaking the boat, and then I--I went over--"
"It passes belief! The young ruffian, after upsetting you, simply deserted--Were you in the water long? Are you cold? Do you feel like you were going to have chills?"
"No--I feel well enough, physically.... But--mamma--"
"You're going to have chills--that's it. No wonder! Wait! I never in my life!..."
She whisked into her bedroom, and, returning with the travelling-bag, produced a bijou flask with a silver top that turned into a little drinking-cup. Into the top she swiftly poured a thimbleful of excellent French brandy.
"Drink this. It will keep them off." And she added: "It passes belief...."
And then she walked the floor, her unexpected hands, so oddly stubbed and thick, clasped before her.
"You called out to him, of course? You screamed for his assistance?"
Carlisle, choking over the inflammatory draught, set the silver top down on the bureau. There was a gratifying absence of cynicism in her manner. She was always, as her mother knew, a serious girl at heart. She had to drink nearly half a glass of water before she could dislodge all the brandy from her larynx.
"Oh, mamma--how can I remember just exactly what I did? Please be reasonable. I was too excited and frightened, suddenly plunged into the water, to think what I was doing. The point--"