Olga secured her boat to a ring and ran lightly up the steps. In a few minutes she came back in her bathing suit. As she ran down the beach, she swept a swift searching glance over the few girls sitting or lying on the sand; then her eyes rested on a little shrinking figure standing like a small blue post, knee deep in the water. It was Elizabeth, her cheeks colourless, her eyes fixed beseechingly, imploringly, on Olga’s face. In a flash Olga was beside her, crying out sharply,
“What made you come in alone?”
“I p-promised you——” Elizabeth replied, her teeth chattering.
“Well, you’ve done it,” said Olga. “Cut out now and get dressed.”
But Elizabeth stood still and shook her head. “No,” though her lips trembled, her voice was determined, “no, Olga, I’m going up to my—my neck to-day,” and she held out her hands.
“You are not—you’re coming out!” Olga declared. “You’re in a blue funk this minute.”
“I—know it,” gasped Elizabeth, “but I’m going in—alone—if you won’t go with me. Quick, Olga, quick!” she implored.
Some instinct stilled the remonstrance on Olga’s lips. She grasped Elizabeth by her shoulders and walking backward herself, drew the other girl steadily on until the water rose to her neck. Elizabeth gasped, and deadly fear looked out of her straining eyes, but she made no sound. The next instant Olga had turned and was pulling her swiftly back to the beach.
“There! You see it didn’t hurt you,” she said brusquely, but never before had she looked at Elizabeth as she looked at her then. “Now run to the bathhouse and rub yourself hard before you dress,” she ordered.
But Elizabeth had turned again towards the water, and Olga followed, amazed and protesting.