“I don’t like to be watched,” she spoke quietly. “Come in.”
He understood, and plunged immediately.
“That brown costume matches you so well,” he explained, “you looked like a sleek otter, or like young Mowgli out of the Jungle Book, only you don’t kick your legs like a frog.”
“Of course not.” They were moving very, very leisurely out into the Lake. “You would soon tire with that frog kick.”
The day he had looked out of the window in Phœbe’s house and had seen her swim by he had noticed—Keuka water is as clear as an aquarium—that she “walked” as she swam, one leg drawn after the other, the sign of the long-distance swimmer.
“Where shall we go?” he asked after a few moments of silent swimming. “I like to have something to aim at.”
“Let’s cross.”
“Very well.”
“That bushy clump of trees which come down to the water’s edge; straight ahead now.”
“I see them.”